


Trials of Morality

by Xmyheart_Hope2die



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Torture, Alien Planet, Badass Doctor, Budding Love, Collars, Dark, Everyone's Hurt, Flashbacks, Forced Sciencing, Hunger Games-Esque, Hunting, Hurt Rose, Hurt doctor, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Fluff, Mind Manipulation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Original Character(s), Past Rape/Non-con, Psychological Torture, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slavery, Torture, Training, Warrior Doctor, What Have I Done, fight for your life, i'm hurt, you're hurt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 08:32:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 53
Words: 204,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4618611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xmyheart_Hope2die/pseuds/Xmyheart_Hope2die
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Doctor inadvertently manages to insult the native population of some burnt desert planet on the outskirts of civilization, Rose expected to get away with a few bumps and bruises and a good laugh. Therefore, suddenly being captured by slavers and sold off to the highest bidder came as a bit of a surprise. </p><p>Now the Doctor must fight through a deadly game of slave vs master to win back their freedom...and their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to Trials of Morality, a thrilling roller-coaster of pain, fluff, and suffering! I have 53 chapters of this written already (I'm slowly moving this fic off of fanfiction.net....I know, finally.) so I'll be posting a new chapter every other day or so until we catch up. This is a long one, people, but hopefully it'll keep you intrigued until the bitter end. Enjoy!

Prologue: 

The entire facility was buzzing with excitement as the shuttle landed at the dock. It was a fine, sleek piece of machinery, artfully crafted for short-distance flights and ceremonial decoration. Its metallic body reflected the dull, nondescript walls of the building it landed beside, creating a stark juxtaposition between the two. 

Heavily reinforced walls rose up on the other three sides of the docking area and a metal plate slid across the top as a ceiling, sealing the shuttle in. Now, if anyone was looking, it would seem as if the shuttle had never landed here. Politically, of course, it hadn’t. As far as the universe was concerned, the shuttle was still in route to Saxicon 7 for an Ambassador’s Dinner. No one would expect it to be here. 

The employees of the facility had all been told to keep their heads down, but that was like asking a crowd of rabid fans to ignore the presence of a rock star. Discreetly from behind their computer screens and stacks of papers, dozens of pairs of eyes could be seen following the figure as it was led down the hallway to the observation office, the president of the ‘company’ rambling away like a salesman trying to suck in a deal. 

“As you can see, this is a state-of-the-art facility with a full-time staff dedicated to making the transactions run as smoothly as possible. We have a fantastic medical staff on hand to care for the stock as well as physical and psychological trainers for all areas of interest. We’re paving the road to the future in this industry, Prebassador Ligtech, one illegal black market trade at a time.” 

Jancon Ligtech glanced around the large command room with impressed interest. He was a young man in his mid to late twenties, incredibly handsome by his planet’s standards, with beautiful charcoal colored skin and disheveled silver hair that matched his eyes, which were just one eerie shade darker than the whites surrounding them. There was a glint in those eyes that showed him, despite his distinguished clothes and well-mannered stature, for what he really was. A playboy. A pleasure junkie. The heir to a wealthy ambassadorial line who had taken too kindly to money. 

“And, of course,” The president continued with a large, fake smile. “As you can probably assume from the state of our facility, our stock is top of the line, kept in the best condition in the market.”

“I’ve clearly come to the right place.” Jancon mused with a small laugh. 

“You’re a first-time buyer, are you not?” 

“Yes, I am. I’m just looking for something fun to help pass the time, you know?” 

The president laughed shallowly. “What, not enough women on your planet to keep you busy?” A few employees within earshot had to hide behind their desks to cover their laughter. They had all heard about Jancon’s recent exploits. 

Jancon himself laughed and shrugged. “Sometimes you have to change it up a little. Do you have anything for me?” 

“Of course!” The president reached a stairwell that led up into the posh observation room and motioned for Jancon to follow. “Generally we don’t do this – we usually separate out the stock we need to get rid of soon, or that fits the buyers budget, so they never really get a chance to see the whole supply. But then again, we’ve never had anyone as distinguished as yourself joining us.” Jancon nodded a polite ‘thanks’ for the compliment. “So you can have your pick of the stock, if you find anything that fancies you. And I have no doubt you will.” 

The president opened the door and stepped back to allow Jancon in first. Jancon swept his eyes over the room, which was equipped with a handful of chairs and a leather sofa with a rich red carpet and comfortable low lighting. All the furniture was positioned to face one direction; a wall that was made completely of glass, overlooking an expansive room below. 

“Incredible.” Jancon commented flatly as he approached the clear wall and gazed down at the ‘stock’ room. In comparison to where he was standing, the stockroom was bleak, industrial, a stretch of grey walls with metal net fencing rising up to the tall ceiling above. The walls were lined with metal benches, where thirty or more men and women sat, huddled either alone or in small groups, in various states of neglect. There was not much movement or excitement below; the prisoners simply sat on display with nothing else to do. 

Jancon’s silver eyes raked across the scene, landing briefly on a woman with bright red hair, and then on a man with curious ocean-blue skin, the color of Earth’s Caribbean. A small laugh escaped him as he noticed an Ood standing apart from the group. Finally, his eyes settled on a couple sitting in the corner, also separate from the rest. The female had her head resting on the male’s lap, her blond hair falling over his legs as he ran a finger through the strands. He was saying something to her, his head bent down to look into her face so his own was partially concealed by his tousled brown hair, but then he looked up and glanced around, a protective glint in his eye that made Jancon shiver. 

“That one.” He said as he pointed towards the intriguing couple. 

The president moved to the intercom positioned on a large, oak desk, smiling widely. “The female?” He asked in confirmation. 

“No. The male.” The members of the observation room – which consisted mostly of the president and a few staff members – exchanged amused and astonished looks that they quickly tried to hide. 

The president gave a small laugh as he pressed the intercom button. “Bring MD196305 up to observation, please.” He turned back to Jancon. “I hope you’re ready for this, Prebassador. This one’s a lot to handle.” 

Jancon saw it for himself a few moments later when the door to the stockroom was thrown open and a group of guards entered the room. Many of the prisoners looked up, shrinking away from the new presence. The blond female instantly took her head off the male’s lap, sitting up as the male visibly tensed, drawing her closer to him with one shielding move. 

“Is that his mate?” Jancon asked, indicating the blond girl. 

“Yes,” The president sighed as if the topic had a long story that had caused much stress. “They came in together not too long ago and are completely inseparable. You’re going to have an interesting time handling this.” 

Jancon could see that as the guards approached the corner the two had been occupying, motioning at the male and saying something the small microphone in the room couldn’t quite pick up. Whatever it was the man didn’t seem to agree with it. He stood up quickly and stepped in front of his companion, shielding her. He was surprisingly tall and slim. He said something back to the guards, his face angled with the growl, as if daring them to try something. The woman stood up, gripping his arm, and snapped something at the guard as well. She was met with a gloved hand striking her across the face. 

The male’s reaction was instantaneous. He launched himself at the guard that hit his mate, shoving him backwards before spinning around to face her. Her hand was massaging the sudden redness on her cheek where she’d been struck. The male brushed his finger over it gently before he was suddenly dragged backwards by the arms. He struggled against them as another guard went to hold the female back, putting enough force on her shoulders so her knees buckled and struck the ground hard. The male swung and twisted viciously like a snake until he finally found a break from the rough hands. 

He stumbled forward as he tripped over his own foot and landed on his knees in front of the distressed female. He wasted no time as his hands moved to cup her face, one thumb brushing away a frustrated and scared tear from her cheek, before drawing her into a deep, passionate kiss. 

The kiss was cut short as the guards found their grip again on the male and pulled him backwards, cuffing his hands together behind his back. “NO!” The microphone suddenly picked up the female’s voice as she shouted desperately. “DOCTOR!” 

Jancon suddenly felt concerned about his decision. “Does she need medical attention?” The president just laughed. 

“No, that’s what she calls him. The Doctor.”

“Was he a doctor before he came here?” 

The president shrugged. “Who knows. Whatever he was or did, that’s over now. We don’t deal with the past, Prebassador Ligtech, only the future. And his future is now you.” 

There was noise coming from the staircase outside the observation room. They all turned to watch, Jancon having to tear his eyes away from the still struggling female below. The door opened as four guards led the male in. He wasn’t struggling anymore, but his hands were still cuffed, immobilized, behind his back, and now he was sporting a gag. Jancon looked at the president with a questioning quirk of his eyebrow. “Company policy.” The president explained. “Especially this one gets a bit mouthy around authority.” Jancon looked back just in time to see the male roll his eyes. He neither looked scared nor angry, but there was something about him that set everyone in the room on edge. If Jancon had to bet his money – and he had a lot of that – he’d say it was his eyes. They were both young and old and twinkled darkly as if he knew a secret he wasn’t about to share. Knowledge simply radiated out of those brown orbs, and Jancon couldn’t find it within him to look away. 

Suddenly the man’s eyes looked away and found the glass wall overlooking the room he’d just left. Those eyes suddenly became impossibly sad as he watched the guard toss his companion aside. She landed on her hands and knees on the ground where she stayed, her body shaking slightly with poorly concealed sobs. Another female slowly made her way over as the guard left, knelt down, and wrapped one of her arms around the blond one’s shoulders, pulling her close for comfort. Jancon was amazed to see tears glisten, unshed, in the male’s eyes. 

“His designation is MD196305, but if you decide to go through with the deal you may call him whatever you like, of course.” 

“Do I have to decide right now?” 

“Of course not. We have a twenty-four hour policy in which you can make your decision before the stock’s put back on the market. You cannot take him out with you during that time, but you are more than welcome to stay here and get yourself acquainted. We have some lovely guestrooms on the upper levels if you’d be interested.” 

“Yes, that would be fantastic, thanks.” Jancon wasn’t looking at the president as he spoke, but at the male, who, in turn, was staring back at him with a look of calm defiance. 

“Would you like him brought to your room as well, or taken to another holding room in the meantime?” 

Jancon thought for a moment, his mind frozen by the look in the prisoner’s eyes. It was like staring into eternity, watching the world spin and time wind. Finally he found himself able to speak. “Yes, my room, please.” 

The male was dragged back to his feet and hauled from the room carelessly. The man didn’t seem to protest. He kept his eyes on Jancon for as long as he could, the look penetrating the young prebassador. 

“You have interesting taste, my friend.” The president said as he threw an arm around Jancon’s shoulders like a proud father. “And, I hope, a thick wallet, because this particular slave is not going to come out cheap.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Six Weeks Earlier_

 “I can’t take you anywhere!” Rose shouted as the Doctor dragged her along by the hand.

 They were flying down a rocky hill speckled with sparse blue bushes that tore at the hem of their trousers as they ran passed. The branches snapped off as they made contact, dry as bone from the lack of rain on this planet. The landscape was just as dry and depressing; a cracked riverbed sat dusty and empty at the bottom of the hill and what trees were left looked ready to crumble apart. There were no loving creatures in sight.

 Except for the Doctor and Rose, of course, as well as the dozen or so natives chasing them through the abandoned land. The Doctor shot a grin over his shoulder, reveling in the run. His adrenaline was pulling him forward, pumping through his body and helping his long legs cover even more ground. It was all Rose could do to keep up, her hand clasped tightly in his as she was towed along. The sharp rocks stabbed her through the soles of her shoes and caused her to trip and stumble quite a few times.

“What? All I did was say I liked their hats!” He called back to her as he suddenly shot to the right, finding a more convenient path. Rose didn’t find it convenient as she was jerked suddenly to the side.

They finally made it to the base of the hill, standing in the dry sand of what had once been a river. There were small crevices in the riverbed that suggested small trickles of water had recently found their way through, but there was no sign of any now. Too bad, Rose thought as she stumbled to a halt beside the Doctor. They’d been running for a while and water sounded absolutely wonderful at the moment.

“Yeah,” Rose finally managed to get passed her gasps for air. “And try to steal one off some guy’s head. Which, apparently,” She stated as she pointed to the top of the hill, where the dozen men in their funny little hats appeared over the ridge. “They didn’t like very much.”

The Doctor gave her a maniac grin and Rose couldn’t help but smile back. No, she wasn’t the biggest fan of running around desert planets she’d never been to being chased by vicious looking tribesmen with no idea where they’d parked the TARDIS, but she was a fan of that grin, a grin only this Doctor could pull off without looking entirely mental. Well, maybe he was.

“Off we go then!” He grabbed her hand again and started taking off up the riverbed. Sand glistened in the air, kicked up by their heels, leaving behind a dust trail. They could still hear the group of natives running down the stony hill. Rocks clacked against each other as they were disturbed by the twenty or so feet.

They ran until they came to a bend in the river where there were a few small boulders and a dead tree hanging over the bed. Rose collapsed onto one of the boulders and tore off her sneaker, dumping quite a few pebbles into the sand. The Doctor had taken out his sonic screwdriver and was now turning quickly on the spot. The sonic hummed mechanically as he pointed it in all sorts of directions until finally the hum became an excited whine. It was pointing further down the riverbed. “Come on!”

Rose groaned as she jumped back to her feet and tore off after the Doctor. At least she wasn’t being stabbed by sharp rocks in her toes anymore.

They ran for a while, the sonic still help aloft, until the Doctor noticed a cloud of dusk rising off from another one of the hills in front of them and to the right. Nervously, he glanced to the left and saw the same thing. They were being surrounded. A few men were scaling down the hills in front of them, searching to cut them off, while the party behind them could still be heard.

The Doctor pulled Rose to a stop, looked around desperately, and shot off to the side, hoping they could climb up the hill instead and catch their pursuers off-guard. He tripped, however, on a stone half buried in the sand and landed sharply on his knee on another rock. “Agh!” The rock had cut straight through his pinstriped pants, drawing a small but stinging line of red blood.

Rose tried to haul him up. “On your feet, soldier!” She growled as she pulled him to his feet. But it was too late. The man coming down on their side of the hill was now standing at the base, looming just in front of them. The one on the other side had managed the same. They both walked slowly over to where the Doctor and Rose stood, still glancing around desperately for an escape. As the rest of the party appeared around the bend, there didn’t seem to be one.

The Doctor spun around to face the obvious leader: A man with thick lines of paint criss-crossing his exposed torso and a hat that resembled an up-side-down cactus with a string of small bones wrapped around it like Christmas lights.

“Hello!” The Doctor said cheerfully despite his exhaustion from running for so long. . “You must be in charge. Brilliant! I’m the Doctor, and this is Rose. Say hi, Rose.”

“Hi…” Rose’s voice was a bit higher than usual with hesitation as she twirled her fingers in a small wave. The Doctor glanced quickly at her and she shrugged, the corner of her mouth turned down in an unsure frown.

 “Sorry about the whole hat situation, by the way, I was just looking. See, we’re kind of tourists.” The Doctor trailed off in his usual rambling way as he turned about to the leader –

And was interrupted by a pair of spears appearing near his and Rose’s throats, except for instead of a sharpened point there was a creature that looked like a piranha with legs snapping at them with its long, needle-sharp teeth. “Oh, lovely.” Rose muttered sarcastically, her voice wispy from breathing so hard.

“Right...okay…” The Doctor put his hands up in surrender and Rose followed suit.

“ _Tce pser sid rou yrof yaplliwuoy_.” The leader growled as he moved closer to the pair.

“What did he just say?” Rose whispered frantically.

The Doctor shrugged. “Something in _really_ primitive Drephesh. Either ‘you will pay for your disrespect’ or ‘you will wear a tambourine dress’.”

“Funny how often those two sayings get mixed up.”

“ _Ekirtsl l’ ewroe cnelis_!”

“Ah, that one’s easy! ‘Silence or we’ll strike! Oh…” He was so proud until he realized that the words actually meant. _WHAM!_ A spearhead collided sharply with his shin and the creature at the end sank its jagged teeth into his flesh. He muffled a cry as the teeth ripped through his skin and pulled away, leaving fifty or so deep, miniscule holes in his leg. He instantly felt his leg starting to go numb.

He clutched onto Rose’s shoulder as he was suddenly struck by a pins-and-needles sensation. She shot him a look that plainly said ‘ _Do you ever shut up?_ ’ before returning her attention to the man with the spear to her own neck. He shouted something at her again she couldn’t quite understand. “Yes, okay, we come in peace.” She said slowly as she kept her hands raised. The man didn’t seem to care as he went to strike her, too.

Then suddenly there was a quick whisper of air and a definite _thud_ as something struck the spear holder in the jugular. His hand rose to the spot, surprised, and pulled away a very hi-tech-looking tranquilizer dart. He only just had time to register what had happened before he pitched forward, unconscious as he hit the ground.

Both Rose and the Doctor stood frozen, stunned, as another dart came flying out of nowhere and struck the leader in the neck, bringing him down as well. The rest of the Drephesh spun around, spears aimed in the direction the darts had come from, as the Doctor grabbed Rose and brought her to the ground, shielding her as a storm of the tranquilizers suddenly rained down on them. Drephesh fell where they stood, clutching at their throats. Each aim was pitch-perfect.

Finally the last Drephesh fell and the Doctor dared to look around. Something was making its way down one of the hills, churning up dust. It looked like the offspring of a small tank and a golf cart – a bizarre combination to look at as it didn’t seem to make any sense at all – with a man hanging out of the top hatch, a sniper-like-gun in hand. And it was aimed directly at the Doctor and Rose.

“Pull up!” The man shouted down into the interior of the tank-cart as they got closer. He was wearing a piece of cloth tied around the lower half of his face to protect him from the dust and dark tinted sunglasses, so his features were almost totally obscured. The tank-cart rumbled to a halt in front of Rose and the Doctor, who was pulling his companion back to her feet, dusting sand off his beige coat. The ‘sniper’ had disappeared back into the interior, but only a moment passed before the side door was thrown open and out jumped four men, all similarly dressed with something protecting their mouths and noses from the kick-up.

At first they seemed to ignore the two strangers standing, warily, at the center of a circle of unconscious natives. They began to prowl the area, occasionally nudging the Drephesh with the butt of their guns. “Yep, they’re all gonna be getting a good night’s sleep.” One shouted to the rest. He reached up and pulled the patterned cloth down his face so it rested like a scarf around his neck before he began to make his way towards then Doctor, not caring about stepping on any of the fallen Drephesh.

The Doctor tried to run a hand casually through his now dusty hair. He was still leaning lightly on Rose as the feeling kept vanishing from his injured leg. “Well, thanks…I guess. Not saying I particularly support your means, but good timing nonetheless.”

“Be quiet.” The man snapped as he observed them.

The Doctor closed his mouth and frowned thoughtfully. “Rose, didn’t we just go through this with –” _SMACK!_ “Oww! What was that for?” He was rubbing on a new red spot on his cheek from where the man had smacked him, _hard_ , across the face.

“I said, shut up!” Rose elbowed the Doctor sharply in the ribs as the man pulled some sort of communication device out of one of the many pockets on his cargo vest.

“Oh-ho! What have we here?” Another one called out. His hair was long and light blond, contrasting sharply with his black skin as he pulled it out of its short pony-tail. He moved in uncomfortably close to Rose, who tensed and leaned away into the Time Lord’s chest. The Doctor’s instincts suddenly started wailing at him and he slowly but pointedly pulled Rose away from the man protectively. Blondie raised an eyebrow and stepped up close to the Doctor, toe-to-toe, licking his lower lip threateningly. “Got a problem, slave-boy?” He asked in a dangerously low voice.

The Doctor frowned with confusion. “What? –”

“Cap, all clear here.” The first man called into the radio. The Doctor turned slightly to see that they were surrounded by the four new arrivals, and something about them told the Doctor he should be more worried than he had been with the dozen Drephesh. He pulled Rose even closer as light static and an indiscernible voice sounded through the radio. “Negative, Cap. We’ve got two spare. Bringing them in now.”

Now the voice managed to cackle its way to the Doctor’s ears. “ _Drephies_?” Another male voice asked.

The Doctor and Rose were eyed carefully by the man before he responded. “No, they don’t look native. Our scanner’s back at base, we’ll radio if they’re useful.”

The radio clicked out as it was returned to the man’s pocket. The Doctor watched him cagily, wondering if he should make a run for it. Could he make a run for it? The leg that had been bitten had now pretty much completely lost its feeling and he doubted he would be able to make it support him running at the moment. And he didn’t want to risk it with Rose.

The radio-man didn’t look up as he made the order. “Bag them.”

“Now, wait a min –”

The Doctor was cut off harshly as Blondie drove his fist into the Doctor’s solar plexus. The Doctor immediately doubled over, the air rushing suddenly out of his lungs. He gasped for it desperately but none came.

“Doctor!” Rose shouted, but she too was cut off as a bag was thrown over her head. She was dragged backwards by one of the men, tripping over a stone as her feet fumbled to find keep. The Doctor tried to follow, but the muscles in his stomach were still spasming, oxygen still deprived of him. Suddenly a bag was thrown over his head as well, cutting off his vision and throwing him into complete darkness. A string tightened painfully around his neck, too taut for comfort for his still struggling lungs. He tried to fight off the hands grabbing at his shoulders, pulling his arms down behind his back, but was met with another blow, this time to the jaw. Stunned, he fell limp for a moment, and it was all the men needed.

Something cold, metal, and hard were suddenly securing his wrists. He was dragged sideways, his one uninjured leg working to find purchase in the soft sand floor. No matter how he tried sinking his feet into the ground, however, the two men pulling him along were much stronger.

Finally he was pushed forward, the hands releasing him. His shins hit something hard and unyielding. The bumper of a vehicle. The impact sent searing pain through his already damaged shin. He groaned as he collapsed forward, the side of his head striking the metal floor of the tank-cart’s rear end. His legs, which still hung halfway out the hatch, were kicked unceremoniously into the vehicle, and before the Doctor could get his bearings back the door was slammed shut, followed by a similar, muffled sound from up front. The tank-cart suddenly lurched forward and the Doctor was thrown backwards, his head colliding with the hard side of the trunk, and he was thrown into an even deeper darkness than the blinder-bag had offered.      


	3. Chapter 3

The Doctor wasn’t sure if his eyes had finally opened or not; everything was the same level of blackness. He groaned as the ground suddenly jolted, his head hitting the metal wall of the tank-cart again and causing it to pound painfully. He tried to shift away from the wall but something was leaning against his side, lightly pinning him in place. The Doctor squirmed to try to shift away from it when suddenly it moved, too.

“Doctor?”

He frowned slightly as he recognized the scared voice. “Rose?” He sat up a little straighter as what he assumed had been her body shifted away from his. His head pounded in protest to the movement. “How long was I out?” He moaned.

Rose sighed, obviously relieved he was awake again. “Not long. Maybe fifteen minutes?” The Doctor’s internal Time Lord clock finally kicked back into gear, telling him he’d been unconscious for exactly seventeen minutes and forty-three seconds.

The Doctor heaved a sigh as he twisted his arms a bit, feeling the cool metal of handcuffs pressing into the skin on his wrists. “Are you okay?” He asked urgently.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She leaned back against his side as she spoke, resting her bagged head on his shoulder. “I was more worried about you, actually.” There was a pause in which the Doctor gave a small laugh. Of course she would always be worrying about him. The two of them were quickly becoming the universe’s biggest and more careless worry-warts for each other. “Doctor, what’s going on?”

He shrugged and instantly felt bad as it jostled her head. “I dunno. But judging by the handcuffs and the blinder-bags, I have a feeling they’re not just asking us around for tea. Whoever ‘they’ are.”

“Yeah, unless they’ve got one hell of a fetish.” Rose sighed.

“You know, I’d really rather not think about it that way, thanks.” He grunted as he continued to try to wiggle free from the cuffs. “Are your hands tied, too?”

“Yeah. Why?”

The Doctor shifted around again, but the metal cuffs weren’t going to budge. “See if you can get into my pocket at grab my sonic for me.” He felt Rose move closer, felt her bound hands move clumsily down his chest towards his leg, searching for a pocket. The Doctor gasped as her fingers unknowingly strayed a little too far. “No, sorry, more to the left.” He squeaked quickly, silently glad she couldn’t see how red his face felt.

Finally her fingers found the fold of the pocket and awkwardly managed to pull the sonic screwdriver out by its tip. She sighed with relief. “Got it!”

“Good, now pass it here?” They attempted the trade uneasily, both their hands held in those really unhelpful positions, but finally the Doctor twirled the familiar device over in his hand, feeling the comfortable touch of the settings and buttons. He carefully adjusted them, straining his ears to hear the right quiet frequency. After a minute or two he found it and, pressing harder on the switch, let the whirling of the sonic at work fill the area until the cuffs _clicked_ cleanly off. “Ah, much better!” He exclaimed as he pulled his hands around to massage the blood flow back into through his wrists before tearing off the blinder-bag.

The trunk of the tank-cart was much smaller than he’d been expecting. It was completely sealed off; no windows and only one door with no handle from the inside. Just four brown metal walls and a matching floor and ceiling with a small vent letting in a couple small slits of light. Not very exciting to look at, but purposefully bleak and daunting.

Next he pulled the bag off Rose’s head. She squinted at the sudden light and shook her blonde hair out of her face before tossing a grin at the Doctor. “‘ello.”

“’ello yourself. Turn over so I can get your hands.” Rose complied, though it was a struggle in such a tight place. The trunk was only about four feet wide and three feet tall, and the rough movements of the vehicle were not helping them find any semblance of balance as they tried to rearrange themselves. Finally Rose’s bound hands were within range and the Doctor quickly went to work on them.

He shook the sonic as it took a few tries to catch on and ended up having to readjust the settings, having accidentally changed them in the process of moving around. “Ah, there we go.” He exclaimed as he found the right frequency once again.

But just then the tank-cart rumbled to a stop, throwing Rose and the Doctor to the side. They exchanged worried glances as they heard car doors open and then close harshly. Heavy footsteps, lots of them, moved around the car.

The Doctor got back to work, ears straining to hear what was going on outside as the sonic whirled Rose’s hands free. The cuffs had just clicked off, Rose holding onto her swollen wrists, when suddenly the trunk of the tank-cart was thrown open. The Doctor just hand enough time to jam the screwdriver back up his shirt sleeve before he was blinded by the sudden light outside. The ruthless desert sun reflected painfully off the industrial walls of what the Doctor thought looked regrettably like a prison mixed with a military compound. Rose had turned her head away completely, crying out as her retinas were seared. The Doctor only just managed to keep his eyes open, but everything appeared as shadowy silhouettes against the brightness of the sun.

Hands grabbed the Doctor around the wrist and yanked him viciously out of the trunk. He stumbled but was held up by Blondie, who was laughing quietly to himself unpleasantly. “Clever little git, aren’t you?” He commented as he yanked the Doctor’s arm and twisted it painfully behind his back until the Doctor couldn’t move without dislocating his shoulder. He felt the sonic slid up towards his elbow.

Rose was being pulled out of the tank now, too, and the men were no less gentle about it. She fell to one knee as the movement proved too quick for her to follow. A couple men chuckled. “This one like being on her knees!” One taunted to a chorus of more laughter.

“Yeah? Well we’ll see who’s on their knees after I’m through with ya!” Rose growled back but was quickly silenced by a warning look from the Doctor. His eyes had finally adjusted properly and now he could see they were standing in the middle of a sandy courtyard filled with none too friendly looking men in uniform, glowering and smirking threateningly from their posts. A couple more vehicles, identical to the one they’d been shoved into, sat in one of the corners. The walls surrounding them on all four sides were made of sunburned metal, smooth and tall, with only one large guarded door leading to the outside world. From just one quick scan the Doctor could tell getting out of this one would be no easy feat.

Not to mention the dread that settled deep in his stomach as he noticed a group of men striding casually over, their eyes curious and hungry as they fell on the new arrivals. Blondie had managed to produce another pair of handcuffs and secured the Doctor again before kicking him hard in the back of the knee. With a groan, the Doctor collapsed involuntarily, thankful that the sand was soft where his knees struck the ground. More laughter.

“Who are they, then?” One of the new arrivals asked as another one approached the Doctor, ruffling his hair and taking care to pull on it sharply.

“Oi, do you mind?” The Doctor growled indignantly, trying to shake the hand off. “I worked hard on that wind-swept look.”

The man purred menacingly. “Oh he’s pretty. I already like this one.”

“Back off, Collins, we’re not keeping them.” Blondie grinded. “We’re supposed to bring them to the Cap.” Collins snorted at this.

“Ren doesn’t give a ‘flying fuck’, as he’d say, about slaves. Just keep them here, Guide knows we could use some help and fun around this damn place.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, but you keep saying ‘slaves’, and I’m starting to wonder if you mean –” The Doctor tried to interject but Blondie quickly kneed him in the back, shutting him up with the one strike to the spine.  The Doctor coughed as the shock from the impact jarred through him.

“Collins, you know the rules. If Eyal found out we’re keeping stock from them they’d roast us. But if you want to buy him off _them_ , than by all means.” He suddenly pushed the Doctor forward into Collins, who shoved him back viciously.

“He’s scrawny. Not worth Eyal’s ridiculous pricing.” Was the bitter and slightly reluctant reply. Blondie sneered and hauled the Doctor to his feet once again. “Walk.” He ordered. “I’m not dragging you all the way in.”

“Wasn’t going to make you.” The Doctor mumbled as he found his footing. He was really starting to not like the potential of this situation but decided to play along anyway for the time being. Maybe this whole unfortunate turn of events was just some kind of misunderstanding. He could sort it out once he met with this ‘Cap’, he was sure.

“Hey, listen!” Rose spoke up as she, too, was pulled up by the elbows and shoved forward into a walk. “We’re not _slaves_ or anything. You can’t just _haul_ us away like that.” Her voice sounded brave, but as one of the men stepped up closer her footsteps faltered as she tried to shrink discretely away.

“I wouldn’t start drawing attention to yourself, little girl. A word to the wise.” The man tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear, a sick smile on his face.

“Stop it.” The Doctor hissed as threateningly as he dared.

The man didn’t turn his sick smile to the Doctor as he scowled. “Make me.”

“Listen, just uncuff us and let’s talk. I’m sure there’s been some sort of mistake –”

“Your mistake was talking back to me.” The man pulled something long and thin from the loops of his utility belt – something that looked dangerously like a modified cattle prod – and the Doctor only just had time to think that before he felt a horrible stabbing sensation in his shoulder, followed almost immediately by every muscle in his body seizing with pain. He couldn’t stop the shout of pain and surprise that forced its way out of his throat. As quickly as the pain had arrived, it vanished, leaving the Doctor shaking with the residual electricity and gasping for air.

“STOP!” He heard Rose shout, and through the thin layer of pained tears clouding his eyes he saw her struggling against the hold of the man behind her. The Doctor tried to catch her eye, shaking his head in admonition as he pulled himself back to his feet (apparently his knees had given out from the force of the electricity.) His pant legs were now covered with sand and dust.

“Now _move_.” The Doctor complied, not wishing to feel the stab of the cattle prod again. While he could certainly withstand higher levels of electricity than that, it didn’t make the experience any less painful. And he didn’t want Rose to do anything stupid either until he’d figured out what these people want.

Rose was shoved along beside him and when he caught her eye again he tried to give her a comforting smile. She tried valiantly and unsuccessfully to return it, mouthing “ _You okay_?” The Doctor just nodded and kept walking.

They were being directed towards one of the metal doors set into the courtyard wall. The Doctor sighed in relief as they crossed the line into the shadow thrown out by the building, amazed by the vast difference in temperature from one step to the next. It was nice to finally be out of the sun – he cringed at the thought of staying out in that heat for too long and surprisingly felt pity for the men forced to stand guard outside in full uniform and fatigues.

The door _hissed_ open as they approached and they were all suddenly hit by a wall of cool air. They no longer needed coaxing to go inside; the promise of air conditioning and an escape from the sun was too enticing.

Inside the base was designed much like a military spacecraft or one of those space stations built from a kit. The Doctor couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the lack of creativity while Rose fought off the nagging feeling that the place reminded her a little too much of that impossible planet, Krop Tor, where she’d almost lost the Doctor to the devil. Except this time she was feeling far more like the ood…

They were led up a set of stairs and across a grated catwalk. “Grayson, go get the scanner.” Blondie ordered to another member of their armed guard as he directed the Doctor towards an enclosed room lined with doors, all accessorized with password keypads. Grayson, the smallest and youngest looking of the group, ran quickly off through one of the doors, pausing to enter a 5-digit password, only to return seconds later trailing someone else, head bent as if in guilt.

The man that was leading him was tall and imposing with long unkempt hair and tamed stubble along his jaw. He carried with him an air of indifference as he approached the group, who had been pulled to a stop. His grey-blue eyes held fast on Blondie. “I thought you were going out on a cleanse.” He stated detachedly. His accent sounded strangely American and defined alongside the jumble of different accents surrounding them. He spared a glance at the Doctor and Rose before retuning to Blondie. “So…explain them? They’re obviously not Drephies.”

“Nah, Captain Ren, found them at the butt of the hunt, thought they could score an interesting price with Eyal. See?” Blondie grabbed a handful of the Doctor’s hair and pulled back so the was forced to look up at ‘Cap’. “They’re pretty, huh? Clever, too, I think.”

Ren looked them up and down, his features not giving anything away but disinterest. “I don’t deal in the slave trade. Just dispose of them.”

The Doctor blanched at the abruptness of the order, at the cool, uncaring way Ren said those words. He heard Blondie sigh and begin to drag him away again, but this time he started to struggle. “Wait, wait, wait, I’m sure we can come up with something else.” The Doctor tried to smile charmingly. It didn’t seem to effect Ren, who kept up he’s steely gaze. “Personally, we wouldn’t be completely against just letting us go.”

“No, not at all.” Rose chimed in, also starting to wiggle against the hands trying to pull her back down the hall.

“In fact I’d go so far as to say that’s the best option, don’t you think?” The words had hardly left the Doctor’s mouth when he suddenly felt the bite of the cattle prod once more. This time he managed to stay on his feet, but he couldn’t quite stop the cry of pain from escaping his lips. As the pain subsided he turned to find Blondie holding the stick-of-doom this time. “What was that for?” He growled.

“You’re talking.” Blondie said simply. “I don’t like it.”

“Scan them.”

Ren didn’t take his gaze off Rose as he dished out the new order. His eyes, which had been so impartial earlier, were suddenly sparkling with something new, something akin to recognition and disbelief…and infatuation. It was as if this were the first time he’d actually _seen_ the blond girl in front of him.

The Doctor saw young Grayson glance quickly between Ren and Blondie, as if waiting for a contradicting order, before pulling out the scanner. He aimed it first at the Doctor like a price gun at a grocery store and waited. _Beep, Beep, Beep_. He looked at the readout on the screen, frowning. “Species Unknown.” He read out loud.

“Our scanner’s outdated, Eyal will have a broad-range one.” Blondie tried arguing.

“Do her.” Ren cut across him as he stepped closer to Rose. Sensing something was wrong, Rose took an unsteady step backwards only to be stopped by the chest of the man behind her. Grayson turned the instrument to her and only had to wait a seconds before it beeped loudly. “Human.” He read off, voice tinged slightly with surprise.

Ren’s eyes suddenly blazed and a smile crept onto his lips. “Of course…” He whispered before realizing everyone else in the room was watching him. The Doctor hated the feeling creeping up inside him, his instincts screaming at him to keep Rose away from this man, but as he began to pull away from his captor he felt the edge of the cattle prod press against his arm warningly.

Ren cleared his throat lightly as he stepped even closer to Rose, trying to stare into her eyes. She pointedly glared back, daring him to come any closer, but her glare melted into panic as he suddenly reached for her, his thumb running down her jaw line curiously, fingers lingering too close to her exposed throat. Rose shivered.

“Get away from her.” The Doctor snarled seeing her discomfort. Anger was slowly welling up inside him, but he couldn’t stop the way Ren caressed Rose’s cheek gently, almost caringly.

“Exquisite creatures, humans…” Ren was whispering, more so to himself even though everyone else was listening intently anyway. “So rare…”

He was snapped out of his trance by Blondie chuckling softly. “So the Cap finally has an interest in something other than the rules. Considering bending them for once, Cap? We could all use the extra bonus…” He suggested hopefully.

“Hold on, let’s all go back to the whole ‘letting them go’ part of the conversation.” The Doctor proposed but was interrupted by Ren ordering “Silence him” and another painful stab from the cattle prod. It was held against his lower back longer than either of the first times. He crashed down, twitching from the electricity ripping through him. Every muscle seized uncontrollably. For a second he couldn’t tell if he had screamed out this time or not until the pressure of the prod was finally removed and he heard the tail end of his own shout dying in the air. He sat kneeling on the ground now, panting, occasionally jolting as his body fought for control of his own muscles again. He was, effectively, silenced.

Rose, however, was not. “Leave him alone!” She shouted desperately, but her attention was quickly drawn back to Ren as he began running his hand through her hair, untangling a few knots roughly with his fingers. She whimpered slightly as he took another step towards her, their bodies practically touching, sandwiched between Ren and the man behind her.

“Maybe we could keep them around for a little while.” He hummed distractedly as he continued to stare hungrily at Rose. The Doctor tried to argue, but what he thought were words instead came out as a groan as his body spasmed again. He could practically feel Blondie’s excitement at Ren’s words.

“Great!” He exclaimed, dragging the Doctor up and having to half support him this time. “I’ll take them to the holding units!” He began to start walking away when Ren held up a hand, stopping them. His ravenous eyes were still bearing into Rose’s, which had quickly become bright with dread, though they still fought for their usual self-assuredness.

After an agonizingly long moment of silence Ren finally said, “Just him. I’d like to get to know this one a little bit better.” He was still stroking Rose’s hair as she tried to squirm away unsuccessfully.

The Doctor began to fight against Blondie’s hands again without effect. “No.” Came his feebly gasp as the rest of the men sniggered darkly, exchanging knowing glances with one another. Rose started struggling even more now, the meaning of what they were saying not lost on her, but there was nothing she could do. Two men were now holding onto her, one on each arm, still smirking as they towed her backwards. She fought with everything she had, her legs kicking out as the men lugged her along, hardly even acknowledging her struggles. “No!” She shouted. “Put me down! Stop! Doctor!”

“ROSE!” He yelled, wrestle against Blondie and the other man’s hold. He proved to be more of a fight but they managed to control him, even with his flying elbows and heels. “NO! Leave her ALONE!”

“To my quarters, please.” Ren commanded, the first hint of a simper on his face that made the Doctor’s blood boil. His hearts pounded desperately as adrenaline seeped into his system, causing his ears to ring. It was no use though as Blondie brought the cattle prod back around and jammed it against the Doctor’s ribcage, right beside his left heart. The pain was instant and intense and he immediately collapsed, his body going ridged and then limp and then ridge again in a matter of seconds as the electricity continued to course through him.

The current was finally cut off as the prod was removed from his side. Tears were streaming down his face from the pain and desperation. He only just managed to clear his eyes enough and look up from his huddled position on the floor to see Rose being hauled bodily away, shouting and writhing against the arms dragging her through the door, away from the Doctor. The last thing he saw was her frantic, terrified face as the door swung shut behind them, his name shouted from her lips cut off as the door hit the doorframe with a definite audible _bang._


	4. Chapter 4

Rose was still fighting by the time they reached the Captain’s quarters, despite the slap she’d received and the daunting threats growled in her ears. She shouted for the Doctor, though she doubted he could hear her from his distance, and even began to wonder if he was conscious at all. They had held that cattle prod to his side for far longer than necessary, dragging his torment on until what would have been any normal human’s breaking point. Rose’s eyes were burning with the strain of holding back tears by the time the 5-digit code was entered into another door and she was deposited carelessly into the new room.

She stumbled at first before regaining her feet and instantly charged back at the open door. The men easily grabbed her again by each elbow and dragged her further into the room until she was backed up against a large wooden desk. Her hands, still hand cuffed behind her, strained to find anything useful on the desk within reach – a letter opener, scissors, a pen – _anything_! But her fingers found nothing but smooth wood and a few sheets of loose paper.

One of the men – rat-faced and scraggily – leaned in close, sniffing her hair with his long, pointed nose. “Just keep fightin’, poppet, it’s getting me all excited.” He was so close Rose could actually _feel_ him and she immediately stopped struggling, refraining from giving him what he wanted. He didn’t seem to mind as her grabbed her roughly beneath the chin and forced his lips onto hers. She quickly clamped them shut, refusing to grant access to his prying tongue, but suddenly he grabbed her – grabbed her between the legs – and her mouth flew open in surprise. He took his chance and plunged his tongue deep into her mouth. And she bit down. _Hard_.

“AGH!” The man reeled backwards, hand flying to his bleeding mouth. He glared at Rose with such rage it looked as though he might actually explode. She could taste his coppery blood on her own tongue, tangy and metallic. She pressed herself against the desk, suddenly realizing she had no where to go as the man took a threatening step forward, hand raised.

“Leave us.” Rose looked up quickly to see the captain striding through the door, pulling off his coat and tossing it on an empty nearby chair. The rat-faced man instantly stopped. He was panting as if he’d just run a mile.

“You sure you don’t want some help, sir?” He asked without taking his eyes off Rose. “She’s tough.”

The captain just laughed. “I think I can handle a little human girl. Now out.” Grudgingly Rat-face and the other man turned and left, Ratty shooting Rose one last look of anger and the threat of a promise before the door closed behind him. Now Rose could focus all her attention on Cap…and he could focus all his attention on her.

Rose strained against the handcuffs again, feeling the metal finally bite through her skin. Ren ran a hand through his hair, exhaling loudly as he approached her. Suddenly, standing alone with him, he didn’t seem so threatening. He reached for a large bottle of auburn liquid next to a jug of water on one of the side tables and lifted it in Rose’s direction. “Want a drink?” When she didn’t respond he poured two glasses anyway and took a great sip from his own. He walked around the side of the desk, pulled something from one of the draws, and took hold of one of Rose’s forearms. She flinched at the unexpected contact, waiting for the worst, but then she felt a tug on her restraints, heard a definite _click_ , and suddenly the handcuffs fell away from her wrists. She quickly pulled them to her lap, massaging the blood flow back to her fingers.

Ren held out the glass to her and this time she took it but didn’t raise it to her lips. He came back around to face Rose while asking, “Are you hurt?”

“Where’s the Doctor?” Came her quick reply. Ren frowned.

“Who?”

“The man you kidnapped me with and will be selling into slavery apparently.” She didn’t even try to keep the venom out of her voice.

Ren took a sip from his glass. “Oh, yes. He’s been moved to one of the lower holding cells. He’ll be fine.”

Rose snorted in disbelief. “Right, and how many volts of electricity did you have your goons send through him?”

There was a moment of silence as Ren stared at her, his stony, masked expression back on his face. “Enough to keep him out of trouble. For now. Drink.” Rose took the smallest sip she could and tried not to wince as the surprisingly dry liquid burned all the way down her throat. She could feel her body temperature rise as it hit her stomach and started to ooze into her bloodstream. That stuff was _strong._

“What’s your name?”

“Rose…”

“So – Rose – is it true?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.” Rose gasped through the alcohol burn.

“Your scan…You’re really human?”

“Yeah, what of it?” As soon as she said it she watched Ren’s mask crumble away and a look of pure happiness took over his face. Suddenly he stood, dropping his half empty glass roughly on the table, and threw his arms around her. Rose tensed, not sure what he was going to do, and then she heard him laughing softly near her ear. His whole body shook with it.   

“I was so sure I’d never see another human again.” He was saying into her hair. “God, I was so alone…”

Rose tried her hardest not to squirm away from his hold. “I don’t understand? What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t noticed yet?” He asked as he finally pulled away, release her from his embrace. “Rose, we’re not speaking Drephesh anymore…we’re speaking English, _both_ our native language if I’m right?”

Rose suddenly realized the TARDIS wasn’t translating for her anymore. “You’re – you’re from earth?” She couldn’t see it, couldn’t believe him. The Drephesh may look incredibly human, but their distinguishable orange eyes and slight ridges on their noses, like a dog snarling, showed the difference. She began to shake her head, not falling for whatever trick he might be playing, when he reached up and fished something out of his eye. An orange colored contact. Beneath them his eyes were a piercing pale blue. He then tore off a the flesh colored strip over his nose that had formed the ridges, like a theatre costume prop, and before Rose stood a human.

“It’s been ten years since I’d seen another human being.” He was saying. “I thought I’d never see one again. They don’t come out this far.”

“Then how’d you get here?” Rose felt herself relaxing a little bit. He was human, like her. He had taken off her restraints. He’d offered her a drink. He wasn’t hurting her…yet.

“I was part of a science expedition.” He said, taking another sip before setting the glass down again. “Deep space exploration looking for the source of an atmospheric phenomenon happening in our solar system. We were supposed to go far…but never this far.

“Our ship experienced a full electrical shortage on the outer border of the Sirenian System – well, when I say ‘shortage’ I mean complete systems failure. We couldn’t even put in the coordinates to turn around. Protocol says that in the event of a shortage the ship latches on to the closest recorded planet or moon, but it was such a failure even that wasn’t working. The ship just kept going forward with no destination or anything stopping it. There was nothing the crew could do.” His voice didn’t waiver as he said this, showing no signs of being haunted by the memory. He had accepted his isolation long ago. “Eventually the oxygen began to run out and the crew began to drop. It was by some miracle we happened to be in a collision course with this planet by the time the oxygen meter was reading near zero. But by the time we came through the atmosphere and realized the air here was breathable, the others had either died or were in an oxygen deprived coma, brain dead. Thank God my dad forced me into joining a swim team.” He laughed slightly. “I managed to hold my breath long enough to navigate in and land. But everyone else was gone.”

“I’m…so sorry.” Rose whispered. “But then how – how did you end up here? Pretending you’re Drephesh?”

He snorted at the question.

“Yeah, it’s exhausting pretending to be one of them, but I do it. Because I want to survive, and one doesn’t do that here without being Drephesh. This planet has the worst racial cleansing problem I’ve ever seen. It makes the holocaust look like Hitler playing with a couple toy soldiers. Their moral compass doesn’t exactly point due north. And humans are so incredibly rare out here; I would have been sold in an instant if I didn’t think fast, and not to someone very pleasant.”

“Oh, like you’re going to do to me?” Rose spat back, all sympathy for him instantly evaporating.

“No.” He replied quickly, his voice hardened with determination. “Not you. Not anyone anymore.”

“That’s not what I heard back there as you were _torturing_ my friend.”

“ _I_ didn’t touch him! I only have so much control over my team, and we _all_ answer to Eyal.”

“And who the bloody hell is Eyal?” Her voice was rising and she had to force herself to keep it in check.

“Eyal’s not a who. It’s a company that pretty much runs this entire planet, even though most of it is completely underground and illegal. Capitalism at its finest.” He growled. “They control the outpost teams, like this one, and are the leaders in ‘cleansing’, but more importantly for this conversation they are the leading provider for the slave trade and demand that everything not native or modern Drephesh be turned in.”

“And you work for them and you’re asking for my sympathy and understanding?” Her eyebrows shot up in absolute disbelief and disgust at what he was saying. A slave trade…and they were about to become a part of it.

“I did what I had to survive!” Ren shot back. “I adapted to the situation. And that’s the truth about the human race, so you’d better learn to accept it. It might not be pretty but it’s gotten us through a lot of shit in our history.” He didn’t even try to keep his rising voice in check and suddenly Rose could see his desperation for someone to tell him it was okay, that what he’s done is forgivable. It wasn’t going to be Rose.

“So you’ve adapted! Congratulations! And now you’re turning two innocent people over to be slaves. And _how_ is this stopping me from _being_ turned in again?”

Ren finished his drink in one giant gulp. Rose almost winced just thinking about that amount of liquid burning down his throat. He gasped and coughed. “I –” _Cough._ “I said we’ll keep you around. I had no intention of contacting Eyal about either of you, I just said that to keep the team off my scent and give us time to figure out how we’re going to get you out of here.”

Rose raised her eyebrows in surprise. She hadn’t been expecting _that_. “You’re…you’re going to help us escape?”

“Under one condition.” Ren nodded. “You need to help _me_ escape, too. How’d you get here? Spaceship?” Rose shrugged – would she call the TARDIS a real spaceship? – but nodded anyway. “Just give me your word you’ll take me back to Earth with you, and I’ll find a way to get you and your mate out before Eyal gets any the wiser.”

“He’s not my mate, he’s just…a friend.” She found herself muttering before clearing her throat. “Uh…yeah, of course. I just – I need to talk to him. Make sure he’s okay before I make any promises.”

Ren stood quickly. She could see he excitement trying to break through his mask at the idea of finally going home. “Of course. Unfortunately I can’t make any guarantees that the boys will go easy on you or your…friend. They’re pretty rough boys, the bully type, but I’ll try my best to hold them back.”

“Thanks. Can I go now?” Rose was eager to get back to the Doctor and tell him what had happened, to reassure him that she was okay and make sure he was as well. She hadn’t decided yet if she really trusted this Captain Ren and she needed the Doctor’s opinion.

“Right, yes. But…I’m sorry, there will be someone right outside waiting to escort you to the cell…we have to make it look realistic…” It took Rose a moment to realize what he was saying. He indicated her hair and face. “They need to still think I’m one of them.”

“Oh!” Rose reached up and ruffled her hair, messing it up and making it look as ridiculous as possible. Ren brought the water pitcher over, dipped his finger in it, and – after looking at Rose for approval – gently rubbed it in under her eyes, creating smears of mascara that looked convincingly like tear tracks. After a deep breath to prepare herself, Rose tore the top button off her blouse, which had been one of her favorites, and unbuttoned one in the middle, form a look of one who’d dressed too hastily. With a whisper of an apology Ren replaced the cuffs on her wrists. At least the bruises that had already formed there would be realistic.

“Ready?” He asked once they were done. Rose nodded, trying to make her eyes look as watery as possible. She’d never been able to cry on command during her school productions; now she wished she taken the time to learn. Ren marched her towards the door, threw it open, and quickly tossed her outside into the surprised – and uncomfortable – arms of rat-face, who snickered as she stumble again. “Bring her back to the cell. Keep them together. And _don’t_ touch her…she’s mine.” He growled the order with such authority Rose could practically feel rat-face deflate with disappointment. For what it was worth, Ren was truly a surprisingly good actor.

The door slammed shut behind him and Rat-face started marching her away, Rose trying her best to look shaken and defeated. It must have worked for it wasn’t long before Rat-face put his long nose in her hair to whisper, “Not so outspoken now, are we? Captain put you in your place? It’s too bad, really, that I respect the Cap so much, otherwise I wouldn’t mind helping you _stay_ in your place, pretty.”

Rose shivered, this time not needing to act. She flinched away violently as Rat-face planted a kiss on her cheek before shoving her down the hall again, forcing her to walk in front of him. They passed more and more men, all of them watching at leering at Rose as she passed. A few shot off catcalls, others were satisfied to simply smirk at her knowingly. There were so many of them. Whether she completely trusted him or not, Rose was just happy now to be able to easily fool herself into thinking there was someone here on her side. 


	5. Chapter 5

They had zapped him three more times on the walk down to the containment cells: One for yelling for Rose again, one for stumbling, and the other because it had been a whole floor since the last time they’d brought the cattle prod down on him. By the time they reached the cells far beneath the surface of the hot desert sand, the Doctor was a mess. He couldn’t stand on his own. Two guards had to hold him up and drag him by the arms as he continued to twitch from the lingering stabs of electricity.

They stopped in front of the cell door and removed his restraints before Blondie pressed the tip of the prod one more time against the nape of the Doctor’s neck. A strangled scream escaped him as he fell to his knees, his back trying to arch away from the current. The pressure was drawn away a few seconds later and a boot collided with his lower back, kicking him into the cell where he fell face-first to the ground. He only just had time to raise one of his shaking limbs to break the fall instead of his nose. There were snickers and the _clang_ of a door slamming shut.

The Doctor twisted onto his side, moaning as he felt the volts still loitering in his muscles. He tried to breath but his lungs seemed incapable of remembering how. He rolled onto his back, panting and gasping for air, willing the pain to go away. He could handle electricity, but that much in such quick succession?

His body curved off the ground as another spike of pain laced through him. He tried to muffle the cry, which came out as more of a gasping groan than anything else. He heard more sniggers and managed to pry his eyes open just enough to see Blondie still leaning against the bars by the door, casually watching the Doctor squirm. He winked, twirled the cattle prod around his finger like some ‘hero’ in a western movie, and sauntered off, leaving the Doctor alone.

Now he could see the details of his cell – and there actually weren’t many details to see. Three walls were made of solid metal, the fourth contrived of thick bars and a heavy, locked door. There was a sink and a metal slab sticking out of one of the walls with a thin mattress on it the Doctor couldn’t believe would make much of a difference. But still, it was a little comfort in this time of pain, and he was so, so tired. He rolled over onto his stomach and army crawled over to the cot. The process was agonizingly slow, and when he finally did reach the side of the bed he found his legs were too numb to support him to get on. He tried pulling himself up, using what strength was left in his arms, but it wasn’t enough to lift his whole body. After a few minutes of trying he finally collapsed back to the floor, panting, and decided the ground was better than nothing.

Rose was out there somewhere. His Rose. His precious Rose who he’d promised to protect and keep safe. He couldn’t fool himself into believing she was just getting a tour of the facility, but he wished he could. Every seconds that ticked by was emotional agony as his mind involuntarily began to imagine everything that could be happening. He felt sick. His stomach rolled at the thoughts, but there was nothing in there to expel, so he curled up around himself instead and pressed his shaking arms into this abdomen. He felt the sonic screwdriver slide down his sleeve and land in the palm of his hand, the familiar slim cylindrical feel bringing him some comfort. He could open that door easily with it, could probably slip out of the entire facility without raising a single alarm, but he could barely stand right now, let alone walk, and he had no clue where Rose was. He could only hope she’d be brought back to him and the feeling would return to his legs soon. Until then he would just have to wait the pain away.

* * *

It felt like forever as the Doctor counted every second of the following hour before he heard new footsteps coming from down the hall. The violent shakes had finally left his body aching and sore but thankfully functional again as he pushed himself carefully to his knees. A scraggily rat-faced man appeared on the other side of the bars, pushing a dejected Rose Tyler in front of him. “Rose!” The Doctor launched himself to his feet and flew at the bars, ignoring how his right ankle rolled in the process, while Rat-face roughly undid her handcuffs. He had one hand wrapped around Rose’s throat which he used to make her bend her head to the side, lowering his lips to her exposed neck and giving it a quick biting kiss, eyes trained mockingly on the Doctor the whole time, who was starting to simmer with anger on the other side of the bars. “Don’t touch her. Leave her alone.”

Rat-face just laughed. “I think you’re a bit late to fight for her honor, mate.” He continued to chuckle as he unlocked the door and pushed Rose inside. She fell into the Doctor’s arms, making a point to whimper loud enough for Rat-face to hear. The Doctor looked her over quickly, noting the torn off button, messed up hair, and mascara stained tear-tracks marking down her cheeks.

When he saw the bruised and raw wrists he thought he’d lost it. He moved Rose so she would sit on the small cot before spinning around, intending to strangle Rat-face where he stood, but froze as another cattle prod waved right in front of his face. His pupils dilated as he flashed back to the pain that thing had brought him not long ago, but his shock quickly transformed into absolute fury. He backed off as Rat-face swung the door shut again, but his glare never left him. The glare of the Oncoming Storm. For once the smirk was wiped off Rat-face’s lips as he became to sole focus of a Time Lord’s rage, and he hurriedly turned and left.

The Doctor stood there for another moment, letting the anger roll off of him until he was calm once again, his hearts rate lowing into a steady beat. He whirled around to where Rose was sitting on the cot, rubbing her wrists gently, and knelt down. He took her face in his hands, tenderly rubbing her cheeks with his thumbs as he searched for injuries. “Are you alright?” He asked urgently.

“I’m fine…” Rose whispered back. Her voice was shaken but her eyes were steady as she stared at the Doctor fretting over her.

He checked her wrists, relieved to see they weren’t injured too badly, before carefully rebuttoning the skipped buttons on her blouse. He cupped her face again and ran his thumbs under her eyes, rubbing away the mascara smears and the wetness of what he assumed had been tears. Then he pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes with a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” He whispered as he held her close, knowing there were no words in her language that could accurately describe how wretched and guilty he felt. “ _Nak’tea,_ I am so, so sorry.”

Rose nodded slowly. “Really, I’m fine.” She tried to reassure him quietly. “I can handle them.”

“But you shouldn’t have to.” She didn’t need another language to hear the guilt in his voice, to feel how scared he was, how useless he’d felt. She pulled back so she could look him in the eye, keeping her hands wrapped around his arms.

“Stop feeling guilty.” She told him as sternly as she could. “There was nothing you could do, so stop torturing yourself. Seriously, I’m fine. I’m just…” She paused, realizing suddenly just how exhausted she felt. “I’m just tired. Can we sleep?”

The Doctor nodded. “Of course.” He replied softly, allowing her to pull him onto the small cot with her. She curled into his chest, head resting on his shoulder with her fingers gripping the fabric on the front of his jacket. The Doctor gently brushed a blonde lock behind her ear and continued to stroke her hair comfortingly. They laid in silence for a long moment. He could feel Rose’s breathing deepen as she relaxed into him, could hear her heartbeat slow to a steady, consistent rhythm. “I’m going to get us out of here.” He promised into her hair, eyes glaring determinedly at the ceiling.

To his surprise he felt Rose laugh lightly into this chest. “One step ahead of you, Doctor.”

“What?” The Doctor shifted slightly, taken aback by her casual response.

“Do you think they’re listening in here?” She whispered back. The Doctor just shrugged and moved down so it looked like he was simply snuggling closer to Rose while really he was getting his ear as close to her as possible. After a pause to figure out where best to start, Rose told him about her meeting with Ren. She could feel relief radiating off the Time Lord as he realized the captain hadn’t even touched her and that she really was fine, just putting on a façade for any wandering eyes and ears. But as the story went on his frown began to deepen, thinking of every possible way this could be some sort of trick. Rose seemed to have sensed that, for she paused suddenly and asked, “Do you think we can trust him?”

“I don’t know…” The Doctor answered honestly. “It could easily be some sort of scam, but maybe not. Why did he say he wanted to help again?”

“Doctor, he’s human, like me.” The Doctor nodded, having sensed it when they’d first ran into him despite the orange eyes and nose. “He’s been alone for years. He just wants to go home.”

The Doctor sighed. “Yeah, I can understand that.” He muttered. Rose felt her cheeks go red and quickly nuzzled back into his chest to hide the guilt of bringing _that_ up again. The Doctor wrapped his arms around her, forcing himself to breath deeply and regularly so she would subconsciously follow suit and relax.

A few minutes later Rose spoke up again. “You okay, though?”

“Hmm?”

“That…thing they used…are you okay?”

Pause… “Yeah, of course I’m okay.” He lied easily. “Just a bit of electricity, nothing I can’t handle.”

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have to.” She smiled slightly as she threw his words from earlier back at him. She felt him chuckle lightly beneath her head.

“Stop being clever, Rose Tyler.”

“No. I shant.” She replied sleepily. The Doctor laughed again, the sound of his laugh like a lullaby to Rose as she began to drift off. The Doctor pressed his lips gently to the top of her head as she finally slipped into sleep, pulling her even closer as if trying to prove he would never let her go again. The sonic sat safe and forgotten in his inside breast pocket.

* * *

Far above the holding cells Blondie stood alone in the security center, pulling his yellow hair back into a ponytail as he stared at the computer screen showing their two prisoners huddled together on the too small cot. He couldn’t decide who he was more intrigued with; the human girl so confident and so far from home, or the unknown male with some serious ‘mother-bear’ issues. Maybe he didn’t have to decide between them. He smiled thinking about all the things he could force them to do, taking advantage of their obvious weakness for each other to see how far he could push them. As clever as the male might be, they were both idiots, giving their ‘enemy’ the one perfect weapon to be used against them.

He expected it would be used against them soon. But not by him. As much as the thought of both of them, vulnerable – especially the stoic male – made him tingle, the money did it for him more.

He turned from the screen and reached for the one land-line phone in the room. It only had one button on it labeled ‘dial’ and only one line it connected to. It rang twice before the other end was picked up.

“This is Crvas from Outpost 8, identification number 43-04-600....Yes….Yes, and how much does Eyal offer for new stock again? Oh!” His eyebrows shot up at the number he heard. “Well then, in that case I’m calling to inform the Eyal facility that we have two ready for transport and training. No…” He looked around to make sure he was alone again. “The captain’s busy; he gave me the order to make the call. Well, of course we’ll keep them comfortable until you get here. A week?” He smiled sinisterly. “Oh yes, I’m sure we can find something to do with them until then…”


	6. Chapter 6

Rose was still fast asleep in his arms, finally relaxed, and the Doctor couldn’t bring himself to disturb her peace, even if he could hear a door opening somewhere down the hall and footsteps walking slowly towards their cell. As carefully as he could the Doctor pulled his arm out from under her body and sat up. She didn’t wake, but she shifted in her sleep, drawing her arms around her chest as she subconsciously recognized his absence. The Doctor quietly took off his suit jacket and draped it over her upper body. Rose sniffed, identifying his scent on the jacket, and pulled it closer to her like a safety belt.

The Doctor stood, legs still stiff even after the hours of rest he’d just got, and moved towards the barred wall just as Blondie came into view. Blondie smirked when he saw the way the Doctor winced as his sore muscles were forced to stretch and move, and even laughed softly as he forced a fake smile to cover up the moment of weakness. “Morning!” The Time Lord greeted with forged cheeriness.

“Sleep well, did you?” Blondie decided to play along with the Doctor’s game of politeness.

“Oh, yes, very well, thanks.” The Doctor leaned casually against bars of his cell, dangerously close to the man who had – more or less – been torturing him not long ago, acting as if they were good friends. “Although, you seem to have forgotten to leave the chocolates on our pillow. We were very disappointed.” He pouted.

Blondie snorted as he tried to cover up a burst of laughter. “How rude, thoughtless, and inconsiderate of us.” He managed to reply through his chuckling. “But I doubt you’ll be complaining about your treatment here in a week’s time. In fact, I’d bet you five thousand credits that you’ll be begging for my company again in a fortnight after what you’re both going to go through.”

The Doctor tried to ignore the end of that statement, not enjoying that dark pang of dread that was beginning to set into his chest. He didn’t know what the plan was exactly – Rose hadn’t been very specific on that part, only saying they were currently in the company of slavers, but something felt even worse. Someone had once tried to sell him into slavery before (but he wasn’t about to tell Rose about that one just yet) but there was something more sinister about this one than that small planet’s misunderstanding.

So he shoved the trepidation to the back of his mind and instead decided to pointedly look Blondie up and down, from his worn-out combat boots to his shaggy yellow hair, and raised an eyebrow. “ _You_ have five thousand credits to throw away on _that_? Pfft, I am in the wrong business, apparently.”

Blondie just smiled ominously and leaned in a bit closer. “I _will_ have five thousand credits to throw away _very_ soon…thanks to this business. And you, actually. You and your human bitch over there.”

Taking a step back, the Doctor glanced quickly back at Rose, who was still asleep and clutching at his jacket. _Five thousand credits? For a pair of ‘slaves’?_ Blondie was beginning to chuckle again, drawing the Doctor’s attention back to him. “You _really_ care about that one, don’t you? It’s far too obvious, you know. You should really be careful what you let people know…you never know how it could be used against you later.”

“Don’t you _dare_ touch her.” The Doctor growled, glaring Blondie down. It would have been far more intimidating if the look wasn’t being interrupted by the thick metal bars separating them.

“Oh, _I_ won’t touch her. Not really my type, as pretty as she is. But I can’t make any promises for anyone else in this place. Especially our dear ol’ captain. In fact –” He paused, looking mockingly ponderous. “She’ll probably thank me for sending her away, after hearing the stories of what he just did to her.”

Even though he knew those stories were made up (Rose wouldn’t lie to him to keep him from worrying about her, right?...Right?) the Doctor simmered with anger at the thought of what those stories might have said. What _he_ might be thinking about of his Rose.

He was spared from responding as another door down the hall burst open and loud voices and footsteps could suddenly be heard. Behind him, Rose sat bolt upright, startled out of her sleep by the sound, and glanced around desperately for the Doctor, a moment of panic coursing through her as she realized he wasn’t lying down with her anymore. The Doctor quickly seized the bars and tried to peer down the hall at the commotion just out of sight, the bars preventing him from seeing much further than the space right in front of him. Blondie even looked up and was now laughing at whatever was going on, jeering for once at something other than the Doctor.

“Put the first five in this one here.” An authoritative voice called out above the noise. “Then split the rest up in those two last cells.” His words were met with more clanging, footsteps, and shouting. The Doctor heard a strange form of Drephesh shouted out above the rest followed by a quick _buzz_ and a cry of pain. He strained so hard against the bars to see that he was sure he’d walk away with a permanent dent in his forehead.

Finally a group of people came into his line of sight. Rose had since stood up and was now by his side, also trying to see what was happening after glancing questioningly at the back of Blondie’s head. A couple member of the outpost – distinguishable by their sand-colored fatigues – were shoving along a group of about fifteen native Drepheshies, their hands all cuffed in front of them and shuffling forward in a line. The men were all very muscular, their bare chests showing off their tanned, sun-hardened skin from living life in the depths of the desert, but the smaller, fewer outpost men definitely had the upper-hand as they twirled around their own prods, occasionally jabbing at the air around one of the Drephesh to keep them moving and on there toes. The Doctor was disgusted to see that among them were a handful of women and young children.

“What are they here for?” The Doctor quietly asked Blondie as the group made their way passed to the cells on the other side.

Blondie chuckled. “The Facility’s not the only place that needs slaves. We allow the Drephies to work at the outpost – some building and maintenance work mainly, though sometimes we need some lab mice for the tunnels and such. The ones we allow to live, that is.”

“You’re all disgusting…” Rose commented under her breath, which caused Blondie to look away from the march and toss her a grin and a wink.

“Don’t bash the lifestyle just yet, human, you’ll be part of it soon.”

The Doctor watched as the last two Drephesh passed their cell – a mother and her young son, probably only nine year old or so, who was clinging to the back of her skirt with his thin, bound hands. The boy barely would lift up his feet as he moved, fear and trepidation written across his face. For that reason he didn’t see the slightly uneven flooring and his bare toe caught on one of the raised tiles. He shouted as he fell to his knees, throwing out his hands to stop the fall. With horror the Doctor saw an outpost member growl angrily and yell for the boy to get back in line. The boy went to stand, but not fast enough. The man lashed out, catching the boy in the ribs with the toe of his combat boots. The mother cried out and threw herself in front of the man to protect her son, but another man just came forward and grabbed her by the arms, throwing her into one of the cells as the other delivered another blow to the crying boy’s side. The others were laughing. Disgust and hatred rolled off the Doctor as he noticed the man delivering the kicks was the same that had brought Rose back earlier – Rat-face.

“Stop it!” The Doctor yelled, trying to shake the bars as the boy shouted out again in pain. He was on his back now, tears spilling rapidly from his screwed-shut eyes. Rat-Face brought his foot down on the boy’s hand, a loud _crunch_ and a cry from the boy announcing a finger or two breaking. The Doctor was frantic. “Stop! Don’t hurt him!”

Blondie could barely talk through the amount he was laughing. “He was disobeying our orders.” Each word was punctuated with a chuckle. “Someone’s got to teach him how to react faster.”

“And he’d probably be able to if you weren’t beating the hell out of him!” Rose shouted back angrily. Blondie just winked at her.

“Stop it!” The Doctor finally shouted to Blondie instead of the obviously preoccupied Rat-Face. “Tell him to stop!”

Finally the smile vanished off of Blondie’s face. He glared at the Doctor as if he’d just called his mother the worst name in the universe. He held up a hand to Rat-Face without looking around and told him to “Stop.” Rat-Face quickly complied, brushing back his disheveled hair as the boy at his feet curled into a protective ball, sobbing. His mother shouted for him from the cell next door.

Without taking his suddenly mirthless eyes off the Doctor, who was breathing hard for some reason as he watched the boy cry on the ground, Blondie unlocked the cell door and shoved it open. The Doctor and Rose both stood their staring, not sure what the man was playing at. “You want to help him, do you?” His voice was perilously flat, brimming with anger. He shoved the cell door open a bit more. “Than go ahead.” He hissed. “Help the boy.”

A moment of immobility surrounded the entire space as the Doctor glanced between Blondie, the boy, and the door, before cautiously taking a step forward. Rose grabbed his hand, having caught up on the fact that this was probably some trap of Blondie’s. “Doctor…” She mumbled questioningly.

“A ‘Doctor’, are you?” Blondie jeered lowly. “Well, come on, then. Fix him.”

The Doctor pulled his hand out of Roses and moved towards the door. Trick or not, at least all the attention was finally on him instead of the boy, so maybe he _could_ help in some way.

The moment his foot crossed the threshold of the cell he cried out in pain as the tip of a prod was thrust into his side. He collapsed to his knees, the energy forcing his muscles to seize and contract until he could hardly control them. It was like a thousand million tiny knives stabbing at every muscle in his body all at once, severing their connection to his central nervous system and cutting off all communication from the brain, which was also going haywire from the pain. The electricity finally vanished and he just had time to gulp in one lungful of sweet air and to hear Rose shout his name desperately before Blondie’s boot made contact with his side, the force of the kick sending him falling onto his back, all air vanishing from his lungs in an instant. He still hadn’t recovered entirely from his earlier beating and his body was _screaming_ at him for his idiocracy and inability to stay out of trouble.

Suddenly the side of the prod was brought down on his stomach, feeling like a baseball bat to the gut. And again and again, Blondie standing over him with wild eyes, swinging viciously. “YOU.” _Slam._ “DO.” _Hit._ “NOT.” _Crunch._  “GIVE.” _Bang._ “ME.” _Thump._ “ORDERS.” _Whack._

The Doctor had curled onto his side, which had not helped to protect him as the prod was brought down again and again on his back and shoulders instead. He could feel the welts already beginning to form, and sometimes a small shock of electricity accompanied a hit as the tip made contact with him instead. The whole time he hadn’t let a single whimper or moan escape him but allowed the beating to happen, not fighting back like he could have. He would much rather the guards get their kicks (literally) out on him now instead of some innocent child, and maybe they would be satisfied enough by the end to leave the boy alone.

He could hear Rose shouting something from somewhere but his ear were ringing to loudly to hear what as his heart pumped blood through his head. He cracked his eyes open enough to see Rose clawing at the arms of Rat-Face, who was holding her back and beaming with sheer delight at her distress. The Doctor suddenly felt like he was going to vomit – from the predatoril look on that man’s face as he held Rose or from the beating, he wasn’t sure – and rolled onto his knees, using his hands to keep from falling over.

Blondie, who had finally recaptured some of his calm from before, kneeled down beside the Doctor, panting lightly as he held the prod threateningly in front of the Doctor’s face. “Understand?” He hissed viciously.

The Doctor took a moment to respond, trying to catch his breath, before grunting, “Not sure. I-I think one more hit should do it.”

His wish was Blondie’s command as Blondie jabbed the prod against his shoulder again, sending a short, but not nearly less painful, jolt through the Doctor’s already heavily abused body. The Doctor tried to muffle his cry as he fell onto his elbows, pressing his forehead into his forearms as they braced against the floor. As the current was released Blondie leaned down so he was eye level with the Doctor, who was fighting just to keep his blackened eyes open at the time.

“I would be careful if I was you, alien.” Blondie warned with a low growl. “My self-control is waning and you don’t want to know what I’m holding back. Now get back in your cell.”

The Doctor, pretty sure he _didn’t_ want to know what _losing_ self-control looked like after that attack, pushed himself back onto his hands and knees and agonizingly tried to stand. But suddenly Blondie had his foot on the nape of the Doctor’s neck, forcing him back down onto all fours.

“Oh, no, no, no.” He drawled as he put a little extra pressure on the Doctor’s neck. “I want you to crawl. Resemble the livestock you really as so next time you remember your place. You are little better than your precious Earth’s pack-mules, so behave like one.”

“At least – humans – treat them better.” The Doctor panted just loud enough for Blondie to hear. In response, Blondie stepped away and raised the prod again, this time pointed at Rose who was still being held tightly by Rat-Face. The little remaining color in Rose’s face fell away and left her chalk-white as she glanced between the approaching prod and her Doctor.

“Crawl.” Blondie commanded. “NOW!”

The Doctor complied as quickly as he could, forcing his sore limps to move forward on his hands and knees. He made it to the threshold when suddenly cackled with static and the Captain’s voice suddenly came through it. Blondie placed his foot on the Doctor’s back again to stop him as he reached for his radio, but this time the pressure was too much and the Doctor caved underneath it. He fell onto his stomach, a quiet “ _Ohff_ ” and a muffled sarcastic “thanks…” escaping his lips as he once again found himself without air.

“Awful timing, Cap, quite busy right now.” Blondie growled into the radio, which instantly sizzle with static again as the Captain replied.

“Bring up the female and male. Now.” His voice ordered.

Blondie looked between the suddenly silent Rose and the Doctor beneath his foot suspiciously. “The female _and_ male, sir?” He asked cautiously back into the radio, sharing a confused and slightly amused look with Rat-Face.

“Did I fucking stutter?” The Captain replied and the Doctor had to stop himself from laughing at the completely ‘earth’ saying.

The two brutes here, however, didn’t seem to realize it’s origins as Blondie hissed back. “ _Fine_. We’ll be up in five.” Before clicking off his radio and slamming it back into it’s holder. “ _Get up._ ” He now growled at the Doctor, who ended up having to use the bars to pull himself to his feet as Rat-Face – _way_ too happy – clamped restraints back on Rose’s still swollen and bruised wrists. Blondie grabbed the Doctor by the collar of his shirt and hauled him the rest of the way up before slamming another set of handcuffs on him. He dragged the Doctor around and shoved him down the hallway as Rat-Face tugged Rose along as well. She struggled to catch up to the Doctor, make sure he was okay, try to help him in some way, but Rat-Face held her close, breathing down her neck with his hot, smelly breath. “Ready for round two, love?” He licked the edge of her ear and laughed at the way she shuddered and tried to flinch her way out of his reach, but his grip around her waist was tight and far too personal as he dragged her along after her limping Doctor.


	7. Chapter 7

“Well that was exciting.” The Doctor commented enthusiastically as he was shoved down one of the typical cookie-cutter hallways of the outpost, trying to hide the limp he’d suddenly formed in the hopes of relieving some pain from his side. A line of blood tickled his upper lip as it leaked down from his bleeding nose to his mouth. He grimaced as the taste of his own blood mixed with the burning-metallic tang of being electrocuted. “Too bad the good ole Captain had to go and spoil all the fun, eh?”

He gasped as Blondie grabbed the back of his neck with a bruising grip, his fingernails digging into the skin beneath his hairline. “Pack-mules don’t talk.” He growled savagely, obviously still bitter about his fun being interrupted.

The Doctor frowned. “Well, they do bay, though maybe it doesn’t sound like talking to you. But would you rather I communicate like that? There’s actually this planet on the border of the Annex System where the people actually use a language similar to the sound of earth’s donkeys.” He thought for a moment as he was pushed around a corner and stumbled slightly. “I wonder if a donkey would actually be able to understand them speaking…That decides it. Rose?”

“Yes, Doctor?” She replied breathlessly from behind him.

 “Let’s go to Earth, adopt a donkey, and run this experiment, _when_ we get out of here.” He put extra emphasis on the ‘when’ and turned to glare pointedly at Blondie, who gave him a fleeting, mirthless smile.

“Pehlam,” He addressed Rat-Face, who was still standing far too close to Rose for the Doctor’s comfort (or for her own). “Let’s give the _fe_ male some encouragement.”

Rat-Face grinned all too excitedly as he whipped out his own prod and lightly pressed it to Rose’s bare arm. The effect was instantaneous. Rose yelped in pain, trying to escape the sharp _zap_ of the prod only to be held still and in place by Rat-Face’s surprisingly strong arms. He held her up as one of her legs spasmed and bent, threatening to give away under her.

“Okay! All right!” The Doctor hissed. “No talking or baying of any kind. You can count on me.” He drew a finger across his lips as if zipping it shut, twisted to lock it, threw away the key – which was not a very easy movement to complete with his hands cuffed together.

Blondie smirked back at Rat-Face. “See? I guess she can be good for more than just one thing.”

The Doctor glared daggers at him for that statement, but it was Rose who spoke up this time. “Oh, bite me.” She snapped at him. True, it wasn’t her best line, but she was still slightly in shock from the prod’s sudden touch and still recovering from watching the crap getting beaten out of that little boy and the Doctor – who’d only been trying to help – so it was the only thing her shaken mind could think of.

She regretted it, though, as Rat-Face leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “Don’t tempt me, love, or I might just take you up on that.”

“Hmy ahhya hum hhhr.” The Doctor growled through his imaginary gag. He didn’t miss the way Blondie’s eyes rolled in exasperation as he pushed the Doctor into motion once more. “All of you, shut up.” Blondie rumbled more to himself.

They were led down a corridor Rose was starting to recognize; she knew they were only a couple more turns to the Captain’s office. If they could just make it there without the Doctor further pissing off either of their guards maybe they could both catch a break.

Rose shivered suddenly as a random spike of electricity went through her, left over from earlier. She glanced down at her arm and saw a small black smudge, a burn mark, decorating her skin where the cattle prod had touched her. She wanted to pull down her sleeve so the Doctor wouldn’t see – he had enough to worry about right now besides her pathetic, flimsy injuries – but her sleeve wasn’t long enough. Why had she left her jacket in the TARDIS that morning?

They reached the familiar door to Ren’s office and knocked once. They only had to wait a few seconds before Captain Ren opened the door sharply, running a towel through his damp hair. He glared scrutinizingly at his two men before muttering impatiently, “Took you long enough. Cuffs off.” And stepping aside so they could lead the two prisoners inside.

“Sorry, Cap.” Blondie replied with a politeness in his voice that made the Doctor almost laugh. “Had a little trouble down the hall, all sorted out now, though.” He smiled up at his captain like a dog expecting a treat, but the Captain just studied Rose instead, who had be forcibly led to one of the chairs and shoved down into it.

The Doctor was treated similarly. Blondie pushed him down in the chair next to Rose and began unlocking the cuffs. The metal fell away and the Doctor instantly began to rub his wrists. “Humks” The Doctor ‘said’ with his lips still zipped shut.

Blondie, visibly annoyed, made an impatient noise and growled. “ _What_?”

The Doctor reached up and made an unzipping movement across his lips once more. “Oh, am I allowed to speak now? Brilliant! I was just saying thanks.” He smiled cheekily up at Blondie, who didn’t waste any time bring the back of his hand swiftly across the Doctor’s face. His head snapped to the side from the force. “Ah! That wasn’t very nice.” He gave Blondie a hurt look as he gently massaged his stinging cheek.

“Crvas, stand down.” The Captain ordered as he continued to watch Rose, who purposefully refused to meet his gaze and leaned away ever so slightly, not once forgetting the front they were supposed to be putting up. Her acting was so persuasive even the Doctor was convinced she was scared. He made a mental note to suggest to her that she try a hand in theater later.

Suddenly the Captain whirled on Rat-Face as he struck a finger out at Rose, jabbing at the black spot on her arm. Rose flinched as the spot proved to be tender and placed her other hand over it for protection. “ _What_ is this?” The Captain snapped the question. His orange eyes pierced through Rat-Face and the fake ridges on his nose made his snarl look even more menacing.

Rat-Face seemed to agree as he shrunk away ever so slightly and muttered quietly, “Just a love-bite. Keep her on her toes.” It was a weak answer with weak conviction.

“And do you not remember me telling you _not_ to _touch_ her?” He stepped up so close to Rat-Face he could almost touch his greasy nose with his own. “I don’t like it when people touch my things.” He added in a deep, threatening voice. “Now get out!” He barked. “Both of you!”

The Doctor watched the two men scamper out the door up-side-down as he leaned his head over the back of the chair, trying to stop the flow of blood from his nose. “Oh, bravo!” He commented when the door finally slid shut. “You’re quite good. I wonder, did you have any classical training back on earth?”

Ren sighed as he walked around them and sat on the edge of his desk. He looked tired – at least more so than when Rose had seen him just yesterday. “So, you told him.” It wasn’t an accusation, just a statement that was neither impressed nor angry.

“She didn’t have to.” The Doctor replied. “I could smell you from a few corridors back; that distinct human smell of will-power and chips. Although I bet you’d call them ‘ _French Fries_ ’, wouldn’t you?” He asked the American. “Nice look though…simple and convincing.”

The Captain snorted a little at the rambling man, having not heard his real speaking abilities until so. “And I’m guessing you’ve looked better before, too.” He indicated the bleeding nose, his swollen eyes, and the bruises forming on his visible skin. “What happened?”

“Your _mates_ ,” Rose hissed as Ren stood and walked towards a basin at the back of the room and began dampening a hand cloth. “Decided the Doctor would make a nice punching bag after he tried protecting the Drepheshie _child_ they were using before.” Her anger was evident in her voice, both for the disgusting display of violence towards that little boy and the eagerness to dish some out to a man who was just trying to help.

The wet towel flew across the room to the Doctor, who caught it and nodded a ‘thanks’ towards Ren before applying it to his no longer gushing nose, wiping away the sticky orange-red blood from his face. Rose quickly kneeled down in front of him to help, guiding his hand to the worst sections he couldn’t see himself. Ren watched them curiously from the opposite side of the room.

Clearing his throat pointedly, the captain made his way back towards the pair of them, stopping at the desk to sit up on the edge of it and cross his arms. Doubt danced across his features for a moment. “Then I guess you’ll be happy to hear you won’t be staying here much longer.”

Rose looked up excitedly. “You mean you’ve already come up with an escape plan?”

“Not exactly.” Ren admitted, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “One of my officers – not quite sure who yet – went against my command and called in your capture. I go the order confirmation just now. I’m so sorry, but a shuttle will be arriving within the week to take you both to Eyal.”

The Doctor visible blanched all of a sudden. Beneath the remaining smears of blood, his face had turned white as a sheet and his pupils suddenly dilated. He instantly sat up a little straighter in his chair.

“Are you talking about the Eyal Initiative?” His voice shook slightly as he said those words and something flashed across his eyes that only Rose seemed to notice. Something dark.

Ren frowned. “It hasn’t been referred to as the Initiative in years – not since the collapse of Location Six – but yes, it’s more or less the same. So you’ve heard of it?”

The Doctor gave a shaky laugh. “Heard of it? Oh yeah, you could say that.” Then suddenly something came to mind and he leaped up from his seat, startling Rose as his eyes began to tear into the captain’s, a storm brewing behind those brown orbs. “You didn’t tell them what I am, did you?” He sounded both angry and, so very, very slightly, scared. But no, Rose thought, he couldn’t possibly be scared. Not the Doctor. Not of some simple slavers.

Ren seemed to be sharing Rose’s confusion. “ _We_ don’t even know what you are? Our scan didn’t work, remember?”

“Good! That’s perfect! Tell them I’m human. Tell them the scans went through properly and identified us both from Earth. They mustn’t know who or what I am.” The desperation in his voice made Rose shiver. What was all this about?

“Doctor?” She finally asked carefully. “Have you met them before?”

The Doctor glanced down at her and instantly the storm in his eyes began to wither, as it always did when she was there to bring him back. He collapsed back into the chair, rapidly feeling exhaustion from his recent beating and this close panic-attack beginning to wash over him. “Once,” He admitted quietly, screwing his eyes shut in hopes of getting rid of the unexpected headache he was now experiencing. “A long, long time ago, and it didn’t end pretty. They’re _not_ going to be happy with me if they find out…”  

“I’m sorry to say,” Ren interjected, “But they’re going to be running their own scans anyway. I don’t know much about what happens at the Facility, but I know they perform all sorts of tests and trials for categorization and pricing. I doubt you’ll be able to convince them you’re human for long if you’re really not. What are you, anyway?” His eyebrow rose with curiosity. The creature looked human, acted human, and was even speaking English at the moment, but judging from his sudden alarm at being identified that was clearly not the case. 

“It doesn’t matter.” The Doctor avoided the question. The less he knew the safer he would be from accidents. “I have no intention of ever making it to the ‘Facility’ for them to find out, but they’ll be calling back soon to get our details for shipping requirements. If they find out who I am they’ll be here by the end of the day with their full-force military, and _no one here_ will want that, I promise you. With this week at least we have time to formulate an escape plan.”

This time it was Ren’s turn to grow pale at the suggestion. “I’m sorry, that’s not going to be possible. I can’t help you with an escape – not anymore. As captain of the outpost my every move will be being monitored now, my file analyzed, everything about me studied to ensure I’m not a traitor trying to trick the Eyal by summoning them here. They don’t take any chances, not even among their own, and considering I _am_ a traitor I can’t risk having a slip-up right now.”

“So you’re not going to help us?” Rose got to her feet angrily. “I thought you wanted to go home just as badly as we did! What happened to that?”

“I would rather be alive and stuck here than be executed on the off chance I can hitch a ride from a couple of slaves.” He spat back quickly, but from the slight tremor of his voice the Doctor could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced of his own moral choice either.

Rose glared at him for a moment more before leaning forward, their faces close and threatening. “Then you’re a coward.” She stated simply, her eyes bearing into his accusingly.

“Rose…” The Doctor said carefully, calling her off the attack. Slowly she backed off. “Look, Captain, I understand where you’re coming from, I really do, but there’s more at stake here than our lives if they find out who I am…I’m only asking you for one thing, I can take care of everything else.”

Ren hesitated for a moment before sighing heavily and shaking his head. “What do you need?” He finally asked dejectedly.

A smile cracked across the Doctor’s face. “Just need to know the quickest way to the courtyard and for that path to coincidentally be void of any guards. I’ve got everything else covered.” He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a long, thin, silver object. Rose gasped.

“You still have the screwdriver?!” The Doctor smiled cheekily and winked at her.

“I don’t understand.” Ren muttered. “How is a pen going to help?”

The Doctor gawked at the captain for a moment, holding the sonic screwdriver close as if the insult could have actually hurt the inanimate object. “It’s not a _pen_! It’s a sonic screwdriver! And yes, it will help! And the best part is that you don’t even need to leave your office if you don’t want to. Or go get a coffee with your officers. Build your own alibi as you find fitting. Not that you’re going to need one.”

Ren raised his eyebrows again. This man sounded incredibly confident for a prisoner on a foreign planet. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“Because I’ll be out and back to pick you and Rose up before anyone even notices I’m gone.”

“Wait,” Rose spun on the Doctor. “You’re leaving me behind?”

The Doctor scoffed. “Of course not! I’m just going to pop out to pick up the TARDIS and fly it back here.”

“And you’re going to do this alone?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You’re mental!” Rose laughed suddenly. “You think I’m gonna let you attempt this without backup?”

The Doctor considered for a moment. “Uh…yep, sounds about right.” He finally met Rose’s eye and laughed at the disbelieving look in them. “What? Like I’m going to risk your safety on _this_? _You’re_ the mental one then. The good captain will make sure you’re safe till I get back, right Ren?” The Doctor glanced up at Ren expectantly, daring him to say no to the proposition and plan.

Luckily he didn’t take the bait and, with a sigh, agreed to his role in the escape. Rose groaned as she was excluded from the action but refrained from arguing even more. At least they’d gotten the captain back on their side. The following fifteen minutes or so were then dedicated to solidifying the escape plan. Ren pulled up a map of the complex on his monitor and it took the Doctor’s incredible brain all of two minutes to have every hall of the outpost memorized. Ren announced he would call a staff meeting that night at ten o’clock and suggested that would be the optimal time to attempt this with all the outpost members’ attention being on the gathering (he then asked if the Doctor would need a signal to tell him it was time since there were no clocks in the holding cells, but the Doctor just laughed and assured him he would know).

Later that night, after Rose and the Doctor had been dragged roughly back to their cells and deposited carelessly behind their bars once more, and after the Doctor and Rose silently argued over Rose’s involvement for the last time, the first escape attempt was made in the dead of the night.

And it failed. 

Miserably. 


	8. Chapter 8

It had all been going so well. The Doctor groaned as he thought back to the night before when his beautifully planned escape had gone straight to Skaro in the blink of an eye. He hadn’t exactly been planning on it not working, and therefore was still having a hard time wrapping his mind around what had gone so wrong.

The night began just as they had expected. On the captain’s orders the prisoners were fed and watered – although what the crew thought was passable as ‘food’ was still confusing to both Rose and the Doctor, who quickly began to feel both deeply unsatisfied and sick from the strange brownish glob they’d received for a meal.

“I think…it’s some kind of oatmeal.” The Doctor mumbled as he poked at it with his finger and tried to ignore the way it just bounced back into place like jelly. “With bits of…creature…in it.”

“And that’s enough disgusting brown sludge for me, thanks.” Rose announced and pushed her own bowl away looking visibly ill. After force-feeding himself as much of the slop – which tasted suspiciously like slugs sautéed in mud – his stomach could handle, the Doctor rested for a while, allowing his healing process to speed up and mend the broken rib and the more extravagant cuts and bruises on his body. Rose began pacing back and forth in the tiny cell, unconsciously braiding her short hair as if forgetting she’d just recently cut it all off, until the Doctor finally growled at her to calm down. She had never been very good at sitting around and waiting.

They were, thankfully, left alone for the rest of the night and received no further unwanted visits from Blondie (“What did Ren call him? Crvas?”) or Rat-Face, and when at last ten o’clock rolled around the Doctor was mostly healed from his earlier adventure and ready to get out. He waited a few minutes to ensure all the late stragglers to the meeting had found their way out of the corridors before giving Rose a quick hug and sonicing the cell door open. A few sparks shot from the lock, but otherwise the breakout was hardly even noticeable.

“I’ll be back before you can even say Raxacoricofallapatorius ten times fast.”

“I don’t know, I can speak pretty fast.” Rose countered, still upset about being left behind. She didn’t like the idea of the Doctor running off on his own even though she knew he’d been in worse situations before. At least now she had the _chance_ to help him out and he wasn’t even _letting_ her.

He closed the door to the now single-person cell and turned to leave before hesitating. He grabbed Rose’s hand through the bars of the cell and gave them a squeeze, staring at her gorgeous, worried face. He had no idea this would be the last time he saw her the next two and a half days, and that when he did return nothing would be the same for a long, long time.

Oblivious for once to his future, the Doctor bounded down the deserted room, shooting an “Allons-y!” over his shoulder. The Drepheshies had been moved at some point during the day while Rose and the Doctor had been with the captain to Rassilon knows where, so Rose was all alone down here now. The Doctor buzzed the door at the end of the hall open and, after a quick look around, dove out into the maze of the station.

It wouldn’t take long to reach the first outer door leading to the courtyard, and from there to the large metal gate he’d seen when they first arrived at the outpost. The corridors were eerily deserted and quiet save for the persistent _hum_ of the machinery laced throughout the complex. The Doctor closed his eyes briefly and listened to the buzz, feeling the vibrations run through his converse and into his body. He was looking for a maintenance room, one that had its own walkways throughout the inside of the building for repair needs that Ren had pointed out on the map. However, the one he had pulled up on the monitor was an overview of the main areas of the complex and gave very little details to exactly _where_ the entrance to the maintenance room _was_.

But the Doctor was not worried. Cutting off his other senses, he pressed his ear up to the metal wall and listened, allowing his range of hearing to expand. To the left the sound was getting weaker, quieter, but to the right it was steadily rising, as if more pipes and lines were congregating in that area. The Doctor smiled and quickly headed off in that direction, keeping close to the wall in case the machinery suddenly switched direction, which he knew it wouldn’t. Ren had pointed in this general direction when they had been observing the map, so the Doctor was feeling slightly more confident than usual (which was quite confident indeed).

The hallway turned and suddenly a door appeared right in front of his nose labeled _EMCANIANNTE._ The Doctor’s mind quickly translated it to say _maintenance._ The roar of the lines inside the walls were now almost deafening for the Doctor, who’d opened his hearing up a little bit more than usual, and he had to shake his head sharply to bring it slamming back to normal. He tried the handle on the door – locked, of course – but made quick work of it with the sonic, and soon the door practically flew open. The Doctor hissed at the sudden noise as the edge of the door banged into the metal wall, echoing down the hallway, and quickly adjusted the settings on the screwdriver. Maybe that was a little bit too much sonic…

The inside of the maintenance room looked exactly as one might assume. Pipe rattled together and produced strange smelling clouds of steam and smoke. Buttons and toggles lined the wall of one side of the room along with various calibrators and flashing lights reading off energy levels and pressure buildup throughout the entire complex. On one side, however, was the prize of the Doctor’s hunt: a small maintenance shaft, maybe just six feet tall and wide enough for two men to walk side by side if they didn’t mind brushing arms occasionally. The Doctor could see the map laid out inside his own head: It was down this walkway, two lefts, the second path on the four-way fork, up a ladder, a right, and then up through one of the ducts that would spit him out right beside the door to the outside yard. “Easy Peasy.”

The Doctor removed the metal grilling over the tunnel with ease and quietly moved it back in place after he’d gone in. No need to leave behind unwanted evidence. Then he turned around and huffed heavily through his nose.

The hallway was pitch black. Well, beside the little blue lights that dotted the floor along the edge of the wall to show where the walkway curved or stopped. The Doctor had not been expecting this. With a sigh he struggled to find the right setting that would turn on any lights if there were any. The sonic whirled a few times, flickering in and out as it searched for a source to light, but there was none. “Well, that’s just inconvenient.” The Doctor groaned.

He raised the screwdriver aloft and held his finger down on the button. The sonic produced a faint, shrill sound the Doctor could hear only too well – _Rassilon, that’s annoying_ – that shot down the hallway and would bounce back to him if anything was about to get in his way. Sonic Sonar! Or…Soniclocation! The Doctor was quite pleased with himself as he set off down the hall, the little blue light at the end of the device also helping by casting a small bubble of light in his path.

The first two corridors passed by dark but uneventful. The Doctor kept a finger trailing along the right-hand wall so he could stay in touch with where he was standing and not get completely turned around. His eyes were slowly beginning to adjust, but not quickly enough as he suddenly came to a dead end, walking straight and unhesitatingly into a very solid wall. He almost dropped the screwdriver out of surprise, which would have been extremely unfortunate in his darkness. Instead, he managed to bring the sonic up and cast a little glow on the wall he’d just had a fist-fight with and discovered he’d walked into some sort of circular chamber. There were four doors lining the walls and the open hallway the Doctor had just come from. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. _This_ hadn’t been on the map…

“OH!” He exclaimed a bit louder than he meant to as he realized this was the four-way fork in the road. “So you’re the ticket.” He muttered as he approached the second door to the left of his hallway. This time the door wasn’t sealed shut and opened easily as he pushed on it.

“Ah! Much better!” The Doctor smiled as he was suddenly standing in a corridor basked in a yellowish-orange light. He strode forward with much more ease, even taking his time to look around at all the wires, cables, and pipes jutting out of the ceiling. The hallway suddenly turned and the Doctor, previously distracted, froze on the spot.

The man he’d nearly run into seemed just as surprised as he was. He was a smaller man, stocky and a bit large, standing in maintenance overalls carrying a toolbox and a metal-handled broom. They stared at each other for a moment, completely stunned, but the Doctor recovered first. “Hello!” He added a cheerful smile. “So sorry to barge in on you like this, but I seem to be a bit lost. Do you know the quickest way out of the building?”

The man just stared for a moment as if he couldn’t believe his eyes, and the suddenly the toolbox fell from his hand, tools bouncing and scattering across the floor, as he reached for a radio on his hip. “Oh, no, please don’t do that.” The Doctor moaned before leaping on the little man. The radio flew from his hand and clattered to the ground a few feet away. But the man unexpectedly growled and kicked the Doctor off of him with surprising force. He grabbed the end of his metal broom and suddenly started swinging it wildly around the cramped space. The Doctor ducked and rolled out of the way, anticipating the man’s clumsy movements and avoiding them with ease. Finally the end of the broom handle came flying straight towards the Doctor’s face and he grabbed it effortlessly. He tried to pull it out of the man’s grip, but his hold was surprisingly strong and he clung on as the Doctor spun the broom around and –

_SLAM!_

The man collided harshly with the curved side of the tunnel. He let out one sad moan before sliding to the ground, unconscious. The Doctor stood over him a little stunned by that sudden turn of events. “Oops…”

Now he really had to move. Who knew how many other maintenance workers didn’t get their invitation to the staff meeting and were wandering these tiny halls. The Doctor moved at a hurried walk, sometimes leaping into a jog again, before he finally reached a tall, narrow ladder attached to the wall that led up a narrow tube. Holding his sonic screwdriver between his teeth, the Doctor began to climb. It wasn’t long before he reached the right platform at the top. Only one more corridor to go. This one was less brightly illuminated than the last, but more-so than the first. He kept his sonic out and ready just in case, as if it were some sort of weapon or a magic wand. It _was_ kind of both.

He crept along quietly, keeping low so as to avoid the short ceiling. Here there were multiple shorter ladders that led to round pot-hole like exits to the main complex. The Doctor counted them in his head. _Hoftur_ … _dirth_ … _dsneoc_ …Ah, _tfsir_! Translating to ‘one’, the duct that would lead closest to the outside door!

The Doctor quickly scrambled up the ladder and twisted the lid off the exit. There was a short tube he had to crawl through on the other side with another round entrance at the end. He was starting to feel a bit too claustrophobic for comfort, and time was ticking on. It was exactly 10:28 and he had no idea how long Ren could drag on the meeting. The little skirmish with the maintenance man had caused an unwanted delay and this was turning into one of those rare moments when the Doctor felt like Time _wasn’t_ on his side.

The circular hatch slid open quietly and the Doctor released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding as he came face-to-face with a door. He could practically feel the cool desert night air wafting in beneath the doorframe, taunting him forward.

He spent too long staring at the door. The Doctor jump as a loud, blaring alarm suddenly burst into life from somewhere down the hall. He cursed colorfully in Gallifreyan as he struggled with the sonic, trying to get to the right setting as quickly as his rapidly shaking hands could. He didn’t doubt the alarm was going off all throughout the outpost and whether the meeting had still been in session, it certainly wasn’t now.

The sonic sputtered in and out of life unhelpfully. A cool, impassive voice interrupted the alarm, “Prisoner escape in maintenance shafts. Prisoner escape in maintenance shaft.” The man must have woken up again and radioed in his attack. _Well,_ the Doctor thought, always looking for his silver lining, _at least they think I’m still in the ducts._

That wouldn’t last long though. The sonic finally buzzed to its proper life and the door flew open. The Doctor burst through, nearly tripping on the unexpected piles of sand just on the other side of the threshold. He shot off down the center of the courtyard – so much for stealth – stumbling as the sand proved to not be very much fun to run through. His calves burned from the effort of pushing through the loose terrain. Suddenly flood lights burst into life, basking the moonlit quad in artificial sunlight. The Doctor froze like a deer in the headlights as the alarm blared even louder, announcing his location. Doors began to fly open along the upper walks and on either side of the Doctor.

The gate was so close.

The Doctor surged forward, sonic held out like the leading sword in a battle charge. Then a cloud of sand erupted inches just from his speeding heels. _Are they_ firing _at me?_  He got his answer a moment later as his hesitation paid him back with hit to the shoulder. He stumbled heavily as the sheer force of impact brought him to the ground. He screamed in agony…but not from a bullet. It hardly even broke skin. The Doctor rolled to his side and groped frantically at his shoulder, yanking the small oval object from his skin, wincing as his body jerked involuntarily. A Volt Bite. The Doctor’s eyes widened as he saw the two tiny barbed teeth at the end of it, painted red with his blood and still live with sparks.

Sand jumped in the air as another volt bite struck too close for comfort. The Doctor forced himself back to his feet and surged forward again. The screwdriver had been thrown from his hand when he fell, landing a few inconvenient feet out of his path. The Doctor dove for it, trying to ignore the sand now covering his entire body, caught in his hair and…other places. The sonic’s buzz was drown out by the consistent shots and shouts indiscernible behind him.

Like some miracle, the gate began to gradually open. The Doctor could see the sand dunes rolling away across the desert planet just beyond the walls. He was so, so close.

_BANG_

“AGHH!” Another Volt Bite struck him on the shoulder blades, followed quickly by one to the thigh. The current, though lighter than the ones from the cattle prods, brought him down quickly, earning him a mouthful of sand as he shouted out against the pain. He tried to force himself up and was rewarded with another Bite to his lower back. All three sources tased together, and to the Doctor’s horror he watched as the gate was swung shut again, right in his face.

He struggled to tear away the Volt Bites that had lodged their way into his skin, but his muscles simply weren’t obeying him. They twitched and convulsed and stretched against his will. He tasted blood in his mouth and realized he must be biting his tongue. He tried to control himself but the electricity was making his mind flash white, void of any capable or successful thought. He was plunging further and further into unconsciousness. The only thing keeping him fighting to stay aware was the realization that this would be their only escape attempt. If he didn’t succeed tonight, he and Rose would be on their way to Eyal and any hope of getting out as free people would be lost.

But no matter how hard he clung to that desperation, it was not enough. The Volt Bites were doing their job, keeping him down without risking his life, and then suddenly the excruciating pain was gone. The Doctor laid spread-eagle on the ground, panting, exhausted, covered in sand. His limbs and muscles still refused to comply to his brain’s demands.

And then hands were grabbing him, hauling him upright and dragging him away from the gate, away from his one chance to reach freedom. He couldn’t even fight them as he was carried back into the outpost, hardly even aware of what was happening around him. Everything was a blur.

He was dropped to his knees on some solid surface and held in place. A dozen pairs of feet and legs swam before his blurred vision. One of them stepped out in front of the others and reached for him. The Doctor winced as fingers tangled into his hair and yanked backwards so he was forced to look up into the enraged face of Captain Ren.

Ren glared down at him for what felt like an eternity before finally speaking up. “How did it get out?” His voice was deadpan and dangerous and the sudden change from how he’d been in the office earlier made the Doctor actually worried. He may have complimented him on his acting earlier on, but in this electricity-induced haze he couldn’t be so sure which Ren was acting and which was real.

A faceless guard answered that no one was sure. There were no broken doors throughout the building and the cell holding the female was still locked securely.

“Well find out!” Ren snapped. “And make sure it can’t happen again. I’m not losing this deal with Eyal!”

The Doctor moaned as everything began to spin wildly with movement. Half the blurry figures vanished as they ran off to find out how he had escaped. “Captain!” One of the men holding the Doctor down called out. “We found this in his hand by the gate.” And the Doctor watched in dread as the man passed over his Sonic Screwdriver. Ren studied the instrument for a moment before pocketing it.

 

“Captain?” A familiar voice emerged from the crowed, eliciting a groan from the Doctor. “I think I’ve had the most experience out of anyone at this outpost with this alien, and I can assure you a simple scolding won’t stop it from disobeying. They only learn through immediate punishment.” The blond man smiled balefully. “I could recommend something if you need ideas…since it clearly enjoys being outside.”

* * *

The Doctor sighed with despair as Time ticked on, drawing close and closer to midday once again. The sun was already high in the sky and powerful, it’s rays reach out and almost touching, scorching, the sand below. He never thought he’d dislike the sun this much, but after having spent twenty-four hours tied to a comm. pole at the center of the courtyard beneath the glaring heat of the desert, he never wanted to see that exploding star again. His skin cracked painfully as he tried to shift his weight. Sun blisters had already formed across his bare chest, which was puffed up and red from too much exposure to the sun.

He coughed dryly as his throat contracted from lack of water. Usually a Time Lord could go a week or more without a drop of liquid, where as most humans can only go two or three days, but beneath this scorching sun and heat the water deprivation was taking its devastating toll. He could no longer produce any sweat to protect his skin from burning and he could feel cells throughout his body already beginning to die from their lack of nutrients. His head swam, his brain pounding against his skull and producing a wicked headache. He tired to ignore the painful heart palpitations as his hearts struggled to keep up with cooling his body down. This…this was not fun.

Training exercises were going on across the quad. Occasionally a few men would look over and laugh at him from beneath their sun-armor and visors. The Doctor moaned as he reclined his head against the hot metal pole, hoping they would stop. It was bad enough he’d been forced to strip down to only his boxers, but now they taunted him purposefully with their water canteens and shade.

It had been exactly thirty-seven hours and twelve minutes since the escape had gone so horribly wrong. He hadn’t seen Rose. He hadn’t heard a word about her. No one had had any direct contact with him since, not counting the jeers from the officers across the yard. And to make it worse, the sun was still climbing high, still getting hotter, still searing into the Doctor’s way-too sensitive skin, causing his blood to boil and organs to fail. He felt physically ill but there was nothing to throw up. It was misery and he had no idea how much longer it was going to last.

And the Eyal ship would be arriving in just four more days.


	9. Chapter 9

A shadow fell across his body.

“Theta.”

The Doctor carefully peeled open a swollen eyelid, wincing at the brightness of the sun. A figure had appeared before him, just a silhouette against the harshness of the light, staring down at him expressionlessly with its arms hanging by its side. Squinting, the Doctor could almost make out its features; they were young, boyish, with a sharp nose and clever yet slightly mystified eyes. It was a face he’d seen many times back in those red fields of Gallifrey playing beneath those twin suns. The Doctor almost even felt a smile forming on his cracked and bleeding lips.

“K-Koschei?” His voice was so hoarse from dryness and lack of water it was barely even discernable.

Koschei smiled like an old friend and the Doctor almost felt content, but then the smile fell and Koschei was left wearing an accusatory glare. “No, Theta.” He said plainly. “Koschei’s dead. You killed him, remember? Along with all of Gallifrey.”

The Doctor couldn’t believe the words coming out of his old friend’s mouth. The painful allegations the Doctor knew only too well. He felt his hearts stutter at the sound of them spoken by someone he’d once held dearest to them. “N-no…”

 “It’s all your fault, you know?” Koschei drawled on. “You couldn’t save us. So you destroyed us. You destroyed your own planet. Your own people. Your own family. Your own best _friend!_ ” He hissed viciously, mercilessly, before drawing back, a hurt expression suddenly on his ancient young face. “You’re only friend.”

“Pathetic.” Sneered a new voice the Doctor knew only too well. He’d heard it laughing through the halls of the Academy, taunting his professors with his riddles and jokes. And from behind Koschei stepped a young and innocent Theta, still dressed in the robes of the Gallifreyan Academy. Like his best friend, Theta held no respite in his eyes for what he’d become. “You were pathetic then and you’re pathetic now. You can’t even save the woman you love from being sold into slavery. And you know what they’re going to do to her, right?”

“Don’t…p-please…”

Theta kneeled down in front of him so as to stare his older self straight in the eye. “Oh, of course you know. Don’t lie. You can’t fool _yourself._ You’ve been fantasizing about it, too, though maybe not in the same way. Tell me, how are you going to react when they rip her open? How is she going to react to you when you let them?”

“I w-won’t!” The Doctor cried desperately. Why were they torturing him like this? Hadn’t he suffered enough?

Koschei laughed manically and suddenly the Doctor saw the Master flash across the young boy’s face. “What on Skaro are you going to do to stop them, huh?! You can’t do anything right, you useless excuse for a Time Lord! How dare you call yourself the last of our kind! You are _not_ Time Lord, you half-blooded filth!”

“S-s-stop…”

 “Aw, is the poor little alien not enjoying playtime outside anymore?”

The Doctor jumped, his eyes flying open. It was daybreak now, the sun shinning soft and lightly down on the sand that was still cool from the night. The Doctor shivered as the chill of early desert morning hit his hot skin, still burned and crisped from the fifty-five hours of exposure to the elements.

Koschei and Theta were gone, falling back into oblivion along with the world they were from and the innocence they once had. Instead a new figure had taken their spot, leering down at the Doctor from his towering height. The weak rays of the new sun lit up the yellow ends of his hair. The Doctor groaned, and it seemed that was all he was able to do. He tried to use words but they just wouldn’t come. His vocal cords, for once, had given up.

“Good morning.” Blondie smiled gleefully. “You look terrible. I reckon you’re not feeling one hundred percent either, are you?” The Doctor didn’t reply. He could hardly keep his eyes focused on Blondie’s fuzzy form without black spots dancing across his vision. But he did manage to growl in pain as Blondie grabbed his hair, pulling on his sunburned scalp. “I asked you a question, alien.” He barked. “Were you paying attention?”

“Yhes…” It came out as more of a sigh than a word.

Blondie spoke as if he were talking to a child. “Do you want to spend some more time outside?” He yanked a bit harder on the Doctor’s hair.

The Doctor tried and failed to shake his head within Blondie’s grasp. “N-n-no…” The Doctor rasped.

“Good.” Blondie released him roughly. “Then ask me for forgiveness and we’ll bring you back inside to be treated. Maybe get you some water, too. All you have to do is ask.”

Forgiveness. The Doctor had to ask for forgiveness. No, he knew what this man was trying to get out of him…he had to _beg_ for forgiveness. For something he thoroughly wasn’t sorry for. If anything the bastard standing over him should be the one apologizing and asking for forgiveness, not the one tied up to a metal pole and forced to sit in the hot sand beneath the scalding sun for days.

Silence fell between them as the Doctor struggled just to breathe through the pain in his chest and his own self-respect. Blondie frowned comically before shrugging and turning away. “See you tomorrow, then.” He called over his shoulder as he left.

“W-wa-wait.” The Doctor groaned at his own weakness, but he couldn’t stay out there any longer. He couldn’t handle the idea of those ghosts coming back to haunt him in the sun’s glare again.

Blondie paused expectantly, keeping his back to his prisoner.

“I’m s-sorry. I was wrong t-to try to esc-cape. P-please.” The Doctor hated himself the moment the words left his lips.

Blondie stared him down for a moment longer, expression unreadable. For one terrifying moment the Doctor was sure his tormentor would just walk away and leave him there again, ignoring his pleas. But then he reached for the radio at his belt and it cackled into life. “Sredge, bring out a stretcher, a bottle of Cidocillin cream, and a canteen.” 

A moment later the Doctor was cut free from the pole and heaved onto an uncomfortable stretcher. His crisped skin was in agony as it was moved against the rough surface of the canvas bed, but the Doctor gritted his teeth through it. A medic, who had arrived with the two other officers who were carrying him, was helping pour water into the Doctor’s dry mouth while rubbing some sort of lotion on his chest and neck. His breathing instantly improved and the skin beneath the cream began to feel blissfully cool and protected. The water was like liquid mercy but the medic was only allowing him to take small sips at a time with an agonizingly long wait in between. The Doctor knew this was necessary to keep his stomach from going into shock and rejecting it, but he felt like he would go insane every time he stopped drinking.

Finally they made it inside to the air-conditioned post where the lotion on his upper body began to feel like layers of ice frozen across his skin. It was the most incredible feeling. However, by the time they reached the containment level the effects were already starting to wear off. The heat radiating from his reddened skin cut through the coolness and the pain started to set in again. The Doctor squirmed uncomfortably as breathing became difficult again. He would have asked for more but suddenly found his voice had left him again. All he could do was breathe and pray to not be jolted around too much as they navigated through the halls and down the stairs.

The doors to the containment area were pushed open by the first guard’s back as they hauled the Doctor’s stretcher in. Not long after the Doctor could hear the faint jingling of keys before the clang of a heavy metal door being opened. His eyes had slid shut a while ago and he felt neither the need nor the energy to open them again. He felt himself being lowered to the ground, the hand that had been hanging over the edge of stretcher hitting the cool floor of the cell. Then suddenly he was being rolled carelessly over the edge of the stretcher by indifferent hands. The movement was misery. He felt a cry scrapping against his sore and parched throat.

“What the hell did you do to him!?” A familiar voice shouted in rage. The Doctor’s hearts leapt as he managed to peel one eye open and see a flurry of long, bright yellow hair flash across his vision, along with the worried face of Rose Tyler. He tried to say her name but it came out more like “Rsss…” than anything else.

The medic thrust the water canteen and the tube of lotion into Rose’s arms. “Rub this on its burns until the redness lessens and make sure it drinks, but not too much all at once, do you understand?”

Rose showed her understanding by ignoring the medic and falling to her knees beside the Doctor, quickly popping open the lid to the Cidocillin cream and rubbing it gently into his forehead and cheeks. The Doctor hadn’t even realized how bad his face had felt until he could feel the relief of it.

The medic and officers left, carrying the stretcher with them, as Rose continued to stroke his face comfortingly. “Doctor?” She asked cautiously.

“W-water…” Was the Doctor’s whispered response as he realized how desperate he was for more. Rose jumped into action and brought the mouth of the canteen up to the Doctor’s lips, carefully pouring in a small measure of the liquid. The Doctor moaned as it was taken away.

“What did they do to you?” Rose gasped in horrified disbelief as she looked him up and down, taking into account the burned skin, the swollen and bleeding sun-blisters, the round bruises on his torso where the Volt Bites had struck, and the raw wrists from being continuously tied up for days.

“I’m fine…” The Doctor replied unpersuasively. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine.” He repeated the mantra as if trying to convince himself as well. “I just-” Pause as he went to clear his scarred throat. “Need…sleep it off. Keep rub…bing cream. Chest. Please.”

Rose was nodding frantically, even though his eyes were closed and she knew he couldn’t see her. She took a large glob of the cream and began to apply it to his chest, rubbing it up into his shoulders and down his arms next. The Doctor sighed with relief. “Do you want to move onto the mattress?” Rose asked in hopes of making him more comfortable, but the Time Lord just shook his head.

“No. Floor…cold. No m-moving.”

“Okay, alright,” Rose let him have another drink. “Just…just try to rest, I’ll be right here, don’t worry.”

The Doctor smiled slightly and his dried lips cracked and began to bleed. “Thanks…Rose….” Before he passed into oblivion, allowing his body to finally be able to heal itself.

 

* * *

Blondie, for once, was back on track with his usual work. Rather than tormenting that man ( _What had he called himself? The Doctor?_ ) again when he couldn’t even get a laugh out of it, thanks to him now being unconscious, Blondie decided to return to his set tasks. He was lying on his back on a small mechanic’s gurney beneath one of the tank-carts with a torch, a diagram, and an armband of useful tools. One of the Drephesh they’d ambushed earlier had managed to land a blow on the underside of the machine, its jagged, primitive spear able to bite straight through the wires and metal tubes of the hydraulic chambers. The team hadn’t realized until they were speeding down a rocky hill and suddenly noticed they had no brakes. The tank flipped at the base of the hill, but the machine was tough and so were the men inside. This was the worst of the tank-cart’s ‘injuries’ and no one on board had been too badly wounded or killed. Well, except for the responsible Drephesh who had been sitting unharnessed in the boot and didn’t make it, but that wasn’t important enough to note.

The hydraulic tubes had been punctured straight through but were not completely irreparable if you knew what to do. Unfortunately Blondie had almost no experience with vehicles of any sort, having grown up in the slums just outside Lacapit, the capital of the nation. All he knew were mud and guns, and fortunately one of them had been enough to get him the money needed to get out. After that, his life became relatively normal for a young Republican of Drephia, the political order he became an active member of before being sent to the Academy of Sciences for what he thought was a thoroughly unnecessary education despite the brain he tried to conceal behind his muscles. But either way, he’d never felt the need to become familiarized with automobiles and space shuttles. Those were for elitists. He would rather rob them than drive them.

Either way, the tubes had to be fixed or ordered out for new replacements, the cost being subtracted from Blondie and his team’s payment, which was something Blondie, ever infatuated with the need for money, would not tolerate. Somehow, some way, he would make these hydraulics work again.

Suddenly Blondie felt someone grab his boot and pull him out from under the tank-cart. He squinted against the sun as the wheels of the gurney rolled him next to Captain Ren’s feet. The captain stared down at him for a moment before a small smile hit his lips, the ridges on his nose rising slightly with the contortion.

“Crvas, just the man I was looking for. Can I have a quick word?”

Ren didn’t wait for a response as he pulled Blondie up to his feet. Blondie wasn’t really complaining – he wasn’t getting any where with those tubes anyway, what would this minor time set back hurt? He brushed the dirt off the back of his clothes before following Ren away from the garage of tank-carts.

“Sure, what can I do for you, Captain?”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said the other night,” Ren glanced at him sideways as he led the officer over to a shaded section against the post’s outer wall. “About the alien slave. How you said you thought you knew it better than anyone else at this post.”

“Yes sir.” Blondie confirmed his superior belief.

“I was wondering if you could confirm whether or not it would be a useful asset to keep around the post instead of selling. It seems smart, do you think there would be any work for it here?”

Blondie considered for a moment. Yes, he enjoyed having the alien around for sport and a good taunt after a long day out in the dunes, but on the other hand the Eyal was offering quite a substantial amount of money for the pair of slaves. Slowly he began to shake his head. “No, sir, I think the alien is more trouble than it’s worth. You saw what it did the other day with the escape attempt.” And then suddenly Blondie felt a pang of suspicion. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly so only the orange of his eyes could be seen. “Why are you interested in keeping him around?”

Ren didn’t reply directly. Instead he looked off across the garage and out into the courtyard, his eyes falling on the metal pole the Time Lord had been tied to not long ago. “And how is the prisoner now?”

Blondie shrugged, still slightly skeptical. “Just a bit of sun-shock, should wear off soon along with the burn.” He paused, running his tongue over his upper lip before decided to take the risk. “Do you have such thing as sun-shock on your planet, Captain?”

Ren turned back to Blondie quickly and fixed him with a confused stare. “What?”

“Sun-shock. Is that a common ailment on your planet, too?”

The laugh came a fraction of a second too late to be completely convincing. “What are you talking about, Crvas? My planet is your planet, of course we have sun-shock.”

Blondie shook his head. “No, no, Captain.” He said quietly. A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips as he realized from the captain’s reactions that his guess had been correct. “I mean your planet of origin. Earth.”

And finally Ren had nothing to say back. He stayed silent, staring at Blondie with a hard glare that, to anyone out of context, would seem authoritarian but was actually more one of sheer panic. More men milled throughout the garage, none listening in to the conversation most likely, but appearances had to be kept up, despite the steadily rising heartbeat in Ren’s chest. How did he know?

Blondie laughed with excitement at finally being the one in control. “You see,” He began to explain. “Before I got expelled from the Academy for my violent tendencies, I studied genealogy and interplanetary speciation. So I think I can spot a _Homo Sapien_ amongst a crowd _Morsius Drephelias_.”

Ren’s jaw was set. “Is that so?”

“Yes, sir. It’s a good disguise, mind you, can probably convince all the low-end grunts here, but you’re naïve as hell if you think you’re getting away with it. Especially after that little show you put on after finding out that female was human. Missing the comfort of your own species, Captain?”

“And you know all this?” Ren managed to growl out passed carefully clenched teeth as he felt his control slipping drastically.

“Yes.” Blondie retorted eagerly. And suddenly he couldn’t stop his bitterness and speculations coming out in full force. He crossed his arms over his chest as he smiled confidently. “And I also know that it’s quite a coincidence that the male decided to attempt its escape during _your_ last minute staff meeting.”  
Again, Ren took a moment to respond. “Yes, very concurrent.” His voice was clipped.

“But see, I don’t think it was. I don’t think it was at all. And quite frankly, I’m not even entirely sure which side you’re on, captain, not after you made the order not to alert Eyal of their capture in the first place. That’s why I went ahead and did the honors.”

Ren smirked as he saw his way back in. “Disobeying your commanding officer’s direct instructions while at it.” He said condescendingly. “Not a very clever move, Crvas.”

Blondie shrugged. “No, but how much longer are you going to be our commanding officer, _Ren_?” He stepped closer so they were nose to nose. “You see, I’ve known for a long time about your _disadvantages_ but have kept my mouth shut because loosing the captain of this relatively unimportant outpost never really played out to my advantage. But now that we have Eyal’s attention, maybe they’ll – I don’t know – up the pricing on their offer for _three_ new slave stock instead of just two. It wouldn’t be hard to convince them of you treachery, just need you to remove those clever contacts and ridge mask. What do you think, _Captain_?”

The smirk on Blondie’s face took a moment to melt into pure shock, suspending the moment in time before he reeled backwards a step, looking down at the old-fashion gun blaster sitting casually in Ren’s hand, smoking slightly, before addressing the growing red stain on his stomach. He reached a hand down as if to test that it was true and his fingers came away dripping bloody. Blood was already rising up the back of his throat, causing him to gag and choke on the foul taste invading his mouth. He glanced up at Ren with his stunned and pain-filled eyes before his knee suddenly gave out and he hit the sand, falling backwards as the pain of it struck him all at once. And above him Ren was holding back a cruel smile as he kneeled down by the side of Blondie’s deathbed and, lowering his lips to Blondie’s ear, whispered,

“I think I don’t take well to threats, Officer Crvas.”


	10. Chapter 10

Ren passed an eye quickly, indifferently, over his work. Blondie lay shocked and gasping on his back, rapidly bleeding out and staining the bright sand red. The man tried to talk but too much blood had flooded into his mouth, effectively gagging him and causing him to choke slightly with each strangled breath. It was a pitiful sight, but Ren held no pity for the sufferer. This was nothing new. Ren had killed before. Done whatever it took to stay ahead in this alien and unforgiving world. Threats had never been taken lightly, and this man would have taken his advantage too far.

But now a side Ren had been suppressing for a long time was coming forth. His anger at being stranded, his frustration at not being able to do anything about it, his constant fear of being discovered. And it all mixed together to create, instead, cruelty. Could he, somehow, make this man’s death worse?

He found his answer in words and he looked over Blondie’s injuries again, a small smile playing at his lips. “Now, apparently, you’re a science man, Crvas.” He started quietly. Blondie glanced up at him with wild, fearful, pained eyes.  “Do you know what happens with a belly wound? The bullet rips through the skin tissues and stomach pouch, allowing the gastric acid to be released where it oozes into the open wound and other vulnerable systems in the body. It’s like dipping a paper cut in a vat of acid and lemon juice, only a thousand times worse, I’m sure. At least, that’s how it is for _my_ species. I wonder if it will be as painful a passing for yours.”

Blondie tried to say something, but all that came out was blood. He coughed and sent speckles of it mixed with saliva across his own skin. Ren leaned down so he was glowering into his old officer’s face, inches away from bumping noses.

“No one disobeys my orders and goes behind my back. No one threatens me. And no one will lay a hand on the Doctor and Rose until he pulls through with his promise to me, do you understand?” He didn’t wait for Blondie to choke out a response as he sneered viciously, “You’ve always driven me insane, you know that? So have a long and slow death, Crvas. For me.”

He stood and brushed the damp sand off his knees before realizing their little ‘conversation’ had attracted an audience. He glanced around quickly at the faces staring, blankly, at their captain, all their orange eyes transfixed on what had just happened. Rat-Face was among them, but his eyes instead were downcast on the struggling sight of his friend coughing pointlessly against the rising oblivion. Ren didn’t even attempt to hide the gun in his hand as he turned to his men and, steel in his contact-laden eyes, challenged, “Well? Does anyone else have a problem with the way I run my outpost?”

His dare was greeted by silence for a moment before everyone quickly turned away, getting back to work. Ren refastened his gun to his hip, smiling at how easy it is to get out of anything in these parts. In this business, in this company, and this far away from regular civilization, one is never just _fired_ or _arrested_ for anything. They are dealt with right then and there, making Ren’s job of covering his tracks just that much cleaner…if that could be called clean…

However, as the crowd dispersed and Ren uncaringly strolled out of the garage area and back across the courtyard, one figure remained rooted to the spot. Rat-Face stared down his greasy, pointed nose at Blondie still shaking and bleeding on the ground. Casting one quick look over his shoulder he ran to his friend, crouching down beside him. “Crvas, what the hell did you do?” He whispered harshly, still unable to believe what had happened. There was so much blood, all of it coming from his teammate, and he doubted he had much time left. As horrifying as it was, this sort of thing was not uncommon.

He hadn’t been expecting a reply from the man who was barely hanging onto life by a thread, so when Blondie managed to cough passed the blood build-up in his throat and speak, Rat-Face jumped with surprise. Blondie struggled but in the end was only able to get out one weak word. “A….alien…”

Rat-Face looked around desperately as if some sort of miracle medical machine would appear and save his teammate. “What do you mean? What did the alien do?”

Pain streaked across Blondie’s face as he tried to shake his head. It was getting harder to keep his eyes open, harder to remind his lungs to inflate and his heart to beat. “No…” He managed one more time. “’s lie…”

“What’s a lie?” He asked anxiously. “Did the alien tell Cap something?”

Blondie just gurgled as his body began to shut down.

Rate-Face wasn’t going to have ay of that. He grabbed the collar of Blondie’s red-stained shirt, lifting him up slightly and shaking him. “What did it tell him?” He nearly shouted in his desperation to understand what was going on. Had the alien planted some kind of lie in the Captain’s head that would cause this to happen? Was it telepathic? Was it trying to turn the captain against his crew? Captain Ren had always been quite distant from the men he commanded but he’d always worked with more of a leniency and diplomacy than most in charge. What could have possibly cause him to suddenly become violent against a man everyone thought was in his good favors?

However, Blondie wasn’t responding. Rat-Face shook him again, realizing that if he didn’t get any answers they could all be at risk of the alien’s manipulation. “What did it do?!” Still there was no reaction. Blondie wouldn’t be having a reaction to anything anymore.

Rat-Face dropped the body and sat back, staring at the lifeless form of his teammate and …friend? He felt a sudden rage boiling in side him at the sight, coupled with the throbbing sensation of fear and uncertainty coursing through his system. But there were two thing he was certain of: one was that whatever had happened between the Captain and ‘Crvas’ had been that alien’s fault. That alien had the motive (Blondie having too much fun playing with it, hurting it, humiliating it) and most likely the means (who knew what those creatures were capable of? This wasn’t Eyal, they weren’t equipped to test and control these _things_ ).

And two, that the alien would pay for Blondie’s death. Both of the aliens. Dearly.

* * *

Indecision seemed to flood their cell as the Doctor’s body began continuously fluctuating between being far too hot for his usual body temperature and far too cold, causing him to shiver and shake where he lay. Rose watched from nearby, her knees pulled up to her chin, unsure about what to do. There was nothing she could cover him with to give him some warmth at those times for they had never been given a blanket of any kind and the Doctor was practically naked, save for his sand-covered boxers. She wanted to hold him close, give him some of her own warmth, but wasn’t sure if the movement and contact would cause more harm than good. She remembered having sunburns before – though not anywhere near as bad as these – from a vacation and remembered how painful and tender it was to touch.

Rose had no idea how long it’d been since the Doctor had been returned, she had no way of telling, but it had at least been a couple hours. She had been awakened from a worried and erratic sleep by the sound of the containment center’s door being thrust open and assumed it was early morning, but in this windowless cell it was impossible to know.

Well, the Doctor would know. The Doctor always knew.

Rose was pulled out of her sleep-deprived trance – she’d barely closed her eyes since the Doctor hadn’t returned three nights ago – at the sound of dry coughing beside her. The Doctor’s eyes fluttered open slowly as he winced at scratchiness of his throat. He glanced around, moving only his eyes until they landed on Rose, huddled by his side. He managed a small smile.

“Hey.” He greeted hoarsely.

“Hey yourself.” Rose smiled back. “How’re you feeling?”

The Doctor tried to sit up but almost instantly gave up with a groan. “Sun-kissed.” He finally managed with a grimace. Rose couldn’t help a small, nervous laugh.

“You’re going to have one helluva tan tomorrow.”

“And just in time for bathing suit season.” He joined her laugh, trying to ignore the uncomfortable way his inflamed, tightened skin pulled with each crescendo. But it was better, much better, than it had been earlier. He could breathe again without too much pain and burning and much of his skin had already begun to turn from deep scarlet to pink. He coughed roughly again. “Is there any water left?”

Rose nodded as she passed him the canteen, which was only half empty. The Doctor took a few very careful, calculated sips before forcing himself to stop. The first gulp scraped painfully against his raw throat but the rest were pleasantly, mercifully cool and refreshing. Once he was done he passed the canteen back to Rose, who simply shook her head. “You keep it, I already had some.” The Doctor quirked on of his eyebrows and set the bottle down between them instead, on equal ground.

With an anticipatory sigh, the Doctor dragged himself up into a sitting position. His skin felt hot and clammy at touch. Rose caught a look at his back, which was far more red and untreated than the rest of his body – except for a six-inch stripe of white down his spine from the pole.

“Here, roll over. I couldn’t get your back earlier.” She said, picking up the tube of cream the medic had handed her. The Doctor rolled carefully onto his stomach so she could reach his back, which felt like it had been cooking against the impartial stone floor of the cell.

Rose squeezed a substantial amount of the cream onto her hand and started massaging it into the Doctor’s crimson-colored shoulders. The Doctor hummed contently as the medication cooled and soothed the aching burn. “Been a while since I’ve had a massage.” The Doctor commented with another small smile.

“Well, once we’re out of here I say we’re due for a vacation. We’ll find the universe’s greatest massage parlor and all the banana daiquiris will be on me. Virgin though…We all know how you get when you’re drunk.”

“Oi, that was one time! He had really long hair and it was dark, a completely reasonable mistake that I’m sure anyone could have made.”

“You tried hitting on a tree, too, remember?”

“What, I liked its foliage.”

“That’s quite enough information, thanks.”

“You started it.” The Doctor retorted with a whine, sounding like a six year old in the process. “Besides, I’m going to need a drink after this little adventure. Or maybe two.”

“Just don’t go and pull a Jack Harkness in Cabo, 2752 on me.” Rose scolded playfully. “I’ve seen enough inter-animate marriages to last me a lifetime.” The Doctor laughed at the memory.

“Okay, I’ll try not to marry any mailboxes, I promise.”

“Thank you.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Rose had finally finished rubbing the cream in and the Doctor folded his arms into a makeshift pillow, content to just lay there with his eyes closed, enjoying the crisp cooling sensation on his skin. His healing would soon catch up again and he’d be good as new in a few hours tops. Rose collapsed onto her back next to him, staring at the ceiling.

“Did anything happen while I was gone?” The Doctor asked suddenly, fixing Rose with one questioning eye. Rose sighed and shook her head.

“Nothing. They brought in some more of that absolutely revolting stuff they call food, but other than that…nothing.” She shrugged with one shoulder so as to – unsuccessfully – hide the shudder that ran through her. “Nothing.” She repeated, this time choking slightly. “I didn’t know what happened. I just heard the sirens and shooting but they didn’t tell me anything. I thought – I thought you might be –”

“Rose, hey, shhh…” The Doctor quickly pulled himself to his side so he was next to Rose and looking down on her beautiful face. Her features showed how scared she had been. One tear escaped her and she had no idea why. She hadn’t cried the whole time he’d been gone. She had just sat and stared at the door, listening and waiting for any sign of her Doctor returning. And suddenly it was crashing all around her like some giant cruel tidal wave. The Doctor pulled her close into a hug, ignoring the way his skin seared at the contact. “I’m fine. I’m right here, okay.” He reassured her quietly. “I’m right here. Nothing’s going to take me away. I’m with you, always. Okay?”

Rose nodded into his bare chest. His skin felt pleasantly warm even though she knew it was too hot for him. She knew she was probably hurting him and thought she should pull away, let his burn settle without irritating it, but she didn’t want to. Three days she’d been without him, not knowing what had become of him, and now he was back and holding her, proving he was there. Why would she stop?

For a long time they stayed like this, the Doctor’s finally normalized double-heart beat pounding through Rose’s ears soothingly. They needed this, both of them.

Because neither of them knew how much worse it was all going to get.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains non-graphic depiction of rape. If this makes you uncomfortable or is triggering in any way, please skip this chapter, send me a message, and I'll fill you in briefly on what you missed plot-wise. Thank you, and happy reading!

The Doctor woke with Rose still curled up in his arms. He'd been sleeping so much more than usual lately, but he still felt exhausted. His whole body was sore and stiff from staying on the hard ground for the five hours since he'd been untied from that pole, not to mention those long uncomfortable hours before. But despite that he was already starting to feel much better. He rolled his shoulders back experimentally and discovered that his skin no longer felt all that tender and tight. The road to recovery seemed pretty short now if they could only keep out of trouble for a while…and by 'they' that meant, of course, the Doctor.

It was about midday now. The containment center was quite and still; the Drephesh must not have come back since he left and he wondered worriedly what had become of them. Carefully he untangled himself from Rose, trying not to jolt her awake as he removed his arm from beneath her shoulders. She must have been even more exhausted than the Time Lord for she barely even seemed to notice the movement.

The Doctor stood and stretched, enjoying his relative freedom after having been practically immobile for roughly ninety hours. That was when he noticed the day-old bowl of uneaten brown slop tucked away in the corner. The Doctor frowned. That meant Rose wasn't eating, which was definitely not good. How long had she been on this fast? Since he'd left? He shuffled over to the bowl and grimaced. If it was barely edible fresh then it definitely wasn't edible a day later.

Then, with a curious frown, the Doctor picked up what had once been a spoon, although now half of it had been rubbed away crudely. He looked quickly around the cell, eyes scanning all four walls intently, before something on the bars caught his attention. Still holding the 'spoon', the Doctor tiptoed back by Rose over to the bars. One of them was very distinctly narrower at the bottom than the others, with jagged slices sawed into the metal. The Doctor smiled despite himself. _Rose Tyler. Never gonna give up, are you?_ And sure enough, when he places the edge of the 'spoon' in the slot, it fit perfectly.

The gash, however, was not very deep into the bar, falling at about a quarter of the way through. Barely visible metal filings dusted the ground around it. Rose must have been working on it the whole time but, as the Doctor proved as he tugged with all his depleted might on the bar and it didn't budge, the metal was tougher than it looked.

He shrugged and returned the 'spoon' to the filled bowl before plopping back down on the floor. There was really nothing much else to do. He was already beginning to feel a bit bored, to be honest. No sonic, no plan, no conscious Rose. He could try formulating a new escape plan, but unless he really wanted to saw away at the metal pole for another day or two he wasn't seeing many fantastic options. And he doubted Ren would be interested in helping them again. As much as the Doctor appreciated his assistance, it was obvious the man was only looking out for himself and putting his own well-being before others. The Doctor didn't really blame him, though; in this part of the universe they take survival of the fittest to its extreme definition. For a human to have survived out here for so long all on his own was incredible and, quite frankly, terrifying.

He heard the footsteps before they reached the outer door. With an annoyed sigh, the Doctor forced himself to his knees, shuffling over a few feet to where Rose was still laying cured up on the floor. He gently began to shake her shoulder and she jolted back to consciousness as if she'd been struck with a bolt of lightening. "What? What happened?" She immediately began stammering, grabbing hold of the Doctor's outstretched arm as if it were what was pulling her back to awareness.

"Nothing," The Doctor whispered back quickly to calm her. "We just have some visitors."

As if on cue the door to their hallway was thrown open. The Doctor counted three pairs of swift, heavy, angry-sounding footsteps. He helped Rose to her feet just as a livid Rat-Face came hurdling into view, followed by two men the Doctor couldn't remember meeting before. Neither of them looked like they were about to ask the Doctor and Rose out on a double-date.

The Doctor was becoming quite good at forcing smiles on his face. Then again, he'd always been good at that. Now he was just mastering the art. "Oh, lovely." He allowed a bit of sarcasm and distain color his otherwise cheerful words. "So nice to see you again!" He glanced around and realized what was missing. "So where's your yellow-headed friend? It's not a party without a blondie, am I right, Rose?"

That was not the right thing to say. Rat-Face scowled, anger and resentment suddenly painted his features. The two guards didn't look amused in the slightest either. Faster than the Doctor could have thought, one of them drew out a strange gun and fired on the spot.

The Volt Bite plowed into the Doctor's shoulder, sending him flying backwards into the back wall. The electricity shattered the pain barriers he'd been resetting since waking up, and he felt himself jerking, shouting out more in surprise of the pain than the actual pain itself. Dimly, through slit eyelids, he saw Rose running for him. "D-DON'T!" He shouted through the pain, stopping her from touching him before the current could be transferred to her body.

The electricity vanished just as the cell door was unlocked and Rat-Face and his men barged through. The Doctor stayed slumped against the wall, breathing heavily, Rose hovering nearby unsure what to do. One of the men grabbed Rose around the middle and dragged her away from the Doctor as Rat-Face stormed up to him. He grabbed the Doctor by his ruffled and slightly singed hair and used it to drag him up and basically throw him into the other guard. The Doctor was to stunned by the sudden attack to really do anything, and by the time he had recovered the man had already snapped a cold metal handcuff on one of the Doctor's wrists.

"What did I do this time?" The Doctor asked, genuinely curious. He hadn't even had time to cause any trouble since his last punishment had been dealt out. He got no response – well, unless you count the man's fist slamming into his stomach. The Doctor doubled over, thrown off balance as he lost his breath, meaning the man didn't really have to use as much force as he did to shove him backwards. The Doctor collapsed into the bars, and with expert speed the man twisted the length of the handcuffs through the metal posts and secured the Doctor's other wrist in place, pinning him to the wall.

"Get off me!" Rose tried to force her way out of the guard's grip but he held her fast. Rat-Face stalked over to the Doctor, anger causing his limps to shake, and backhanded him viciously across the face.

"Owwwww!" The Doctor dragged it out in indignation, wincing at the stinging in his cheek. "Again, what exactly did I do this time? Because I honestly don't know, so you're going to have to fill me in."

"DON'T PRETEND!" That outburst shut the Doctor up. He stared, frozen, up at the man who he suddenly realized had a strange desperation hidden behind him reddened, wild eyes. He looked insane, mad. It seemed to take everything within him to calm himself down, and once he had he spoke again, glaring daggers at the tied up Doctor. " _Don't_ pretend you don't know what you did."

The Doctor shared a quick glance with Rose, neither of them quite sure what Rat-Face was shouting about. "I'm….sorry?" The Doctor tried questioningly. "But –"

"NO!" Rat-Face interrupted him suddenly, pulling out a wicked looking knife. "No! I don't want to hear your apologies. You'll get yours in a minute. I just want to know _how_!"

The Doctor nodded enthusiastically with his eyes never leaving the tip of the knife. "Yes, of course, so would I." He said in the calmest voice he could muster. "Maybe if you told me what I did I could tell you how I managed to do it without knowing…"

"How did you do it?!" Rat-Face shouted as he dropped down beside the Doctor, eyes spinning with crazed anger. The knife came to rest dangerously close to the Doctor's throat. "How did you kill him? What did you say?" He was breathing hard now, adrenaline driving him forward like a missile.

The Doctor, however, was shocked into stammering. "W-What? Kill? When – w-who did I kill?"

His bona fide confusion unfortunately did not convince Rat-Face. "CRVAS!" He shouted, spittle striking the Doctor's puzzled face. "He hurt you and you wanted him dead and you didn't even have the courage to do it yourself, you pathetic cowardly _freak_!"

"Crvas?..." The Doctor hadn't been listening, his mind trying to piece together the puzzle. "OH! You mean Blondie! Oh…wait, he's dead?" The question was asked more out of surprise than sorrow. Despite his usual appreciation towards all life, the Doctor really couldn't bring himself to feel sad about his tormentor's death, however it had been brought on.

Suddenly Rat-Face was laughing. It was maniac, insane, absolutely out of the building. And now the Doctor _was_ scared. He'd heard that kind of laugh before; It's the kind of laugh you have when you're trying desperately to hold back another, all-powering emotion, it's the laugh you have when you're trying to justify the fear and drive of your actions.

"You don't even have the courtesy to admit it. You don't even have the morality to know your victim's name. You don't even have the decency to go through with it yourself, you make someone else do it for you. Well you know what? I'm going to throw it back in your face!" He pressed the knife into his skin just enough to draw a thin line of blood before pulling it back, bouncing to his feet. "I'm going to make someone _else_ feel the pain _for_ YOU!"

He turned to the man still holding Rose, who had been frozen out of her struggling by the encounter. With a look the man released her, shoving her forward, positioning her in front of Rat-Face in the center of the room. The Doctor felt his hearts constrict as Rat-Face approached her predatorily. He pulled harshly on the cuffs securing him to the bars, but nothing happened. "Wait, wait, please." He called out, but it fell on deaf ears. "Obviously there's been a misunderstanding. Just – Just leave her alone and talk to me about it. We can figure this out. Please!"

But Rat-Face was no longer listening. He licked his lips, thump running over the handle of his knife as he held it up in Rose's direction. The girl eyed it nervously, beginning to back up until his shoulders hit the guard, who sniggered and shoved her forward once again. Rat-Face eyes her up and down with those hungry, beady eyes. "Oh, I've been wanting this for a _long_ time." He more or less moaned. The Doctor struggled harder against his bonds and felt the edge of the sharp cuffs cut into the first few layers of his skin. They already felt raw. Rat-Face grabbed Rose's arm in a vice-like grip and pulled her in closer to him so she was pressed against his body and planted a hard, bruising kiss on her lips. It took Rose a fraction of a second to overcome the surprise of the movement before she managed the _slap_ him across the face. Rat-Face reeled back from the blow before growling and swiftly returning the favor. His hand struck her across the cheek and sent her staggering into the shelf-like bunk they'd been given as a bed. She managed to catch herself on the edge instead of striking the ground.

Rat-Face spit off to the side, his saliva slightly tinged with blood. Apparently the force of Rose's slap had caused him to bite his tongue. He looked even more acrimonious than before as he raised the knife in her direction. "Strip." He ordered in a deadly dangerous tone.

Rose glanced up at him, horrified, now sporting a split lip. The Doctor trashed against the restraints. "NO! Please!" He shouted desperately, trying to get through to the enraptured man before him. "Your quarrel is with me and whatever I did, _please,_ leave her out of this! She has nothing to do with whatever happened! Please!" But Rat-Face still ignored him.

"NOW!" He shouted at Rose as she hesitated.

But the blonde wasn't going to give in, that much was clear. She pushed herself up and squared her shoulders, staring Rat-Face clear in the eye as she shook her head. "N-no." The slight tremble in the word gave away just how scared she really was.

Rat-Face lurched forward, pinning Rose between the bunk and himself, bringing the knife up to her jugular. She whimpered as his long, dirty fingers tightened around her throat. "You can either do this alive, or bleeding to death, I have no preference." He hissed into her ear and pressed the blade down into her skin as she whimpered again, letting the fear in. "What will it be?"

"Rose." She looked up at the Doctor from where he strained against the cuffs. His voice had been forcibly calm, tinged with worry and fear and anger, but purposefully quiet and composed. That's what scared her the most and sent a shiver down her spine. She had heard that voice before, and she had never liked the situation much in which it had been used in the past. She liked this one even less. But she looked up at him nonetheless and was rewarded with a small, pained nod. His eyes, his impossibly old, sorrowful eyes, bore into her pointedly, practically screaming his guilt as they told her to do what the man said.

Rose nodded back to him as one stray tear escaped down her bruised cheek. Excruciatingly slowly, she raised her hands to her blouse and began unbuttoning the lower buttons.

Rat-Face laughed and spun back to the Doctor, keeping the knife trained on Rose. "That's right, _Doctor_ ," He hissed viciously. "Reassure her. Tell her everything is going to be all right. Let her know that this is _YOUR_ fault. That you did this to her." The Doctor felt his eyes slide shut in shame and saw the looming figure of his past standing over him once more. _Pathetic. Worthless. Freak._ "NO!" A hand grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head backwards into the bars, forcing his eyes open. Stars danced in the space before him as he realized the second guard must have been standing right behind him in the hallway. The fingers stayed wrapped around his hair, keeping his head pulled up and his eyes fixed on Rat-Face.

"You will not close your eyes. You will not look away. You will watch your punishment and know that you can do _nothing_ to stop it!" Rat-Face shouted with fire.

The Doctor was forced to watch in horror as Rat-Face began to undo his belt. He started struggling again, wrenching at his wrists, feeling the blood begin to flow out from the cuts but barely registering the pain. Rat-Face was pushing a terrified Rose backwards against the hard bunk. She was shaking visibly as Rat-Face towered over her, soaking in the glory of what he was about to finally accomplish. The Doctor knew. This was only partially about his punishment for something he didn't even do, which made the situation even that much worse. Rat-Face was enjoying it too much.

He heard a soft snicker from behind him as the guard holding him alert began to laugh at the situation. Thus far neither of the men had said a thing, but the Doctor's hatred for them was now almost paralleling that for Rat-Face. The Doctor twisted and turned in any way he could to get out of cuffs and he heard Rose's first heartbreaking cry of pain as Rat-Face forced his way in. "No! Please!" The Doctor's cry was almost just as heartbreaking, rewarding him with another bashing from the guard behind him. He felt a current course through him momentarily as the cattle prod was pressed against his back, temporarily silencing him.

He was forced to watch as the man enjoyed himself, as the thrusts became faster and deeper, as Rose's whimpers became even more heart wrenching. She had tried to talk once, had tried to beg him to stop, but now Rat-Face had a hand clamped over her mouth as he growled into the ear he was biting on. "You're a whore. That's all you are and this is all you're good for, and your words are meaningless slut-speak." The Doctor saw traitorous tears streaking down her face and marveled at how little she was crying compared to him, whose cheeks were flooded with his desperation just as his wrists gushed from being slashed open by the handcuffs and bars. He didn't want to watch any more. He didn't want to see, didn't want to hear, didn't want to smell. But he kept his eyes open – not because of the man behind him forcing him to – but kept them trained on Rose's, which were screwed shut against the pain and shame as that disgusting, greasy, pointy-faced man used her. He would be there for her, if she needed him. He would be there to remind her she was not alone. He knew what it felt like to be on her side of it – the memories threatening to bombard and overwhelm him in that very moment – and he had never wished so much in his entire nine hundred years that he could be switching places with her right now.

Now Rat-Face was the only one speaking, the only one able to passed the fear and pain and disgust as he sneered even more blatant insults at Rose and the Doctor. They went unheard as the Doctor struggled even harder against the cuffs, wanting to rip Rat-Face's throat out and watch him gag for air through the wave of blood that would flood into his system and lungs, wanted to watch him _suffer_ like he had never wanted anyone to suffer before. Not even the Daleks. So much so that he didn't even notice as he practically shredded his hands into uselessness, the sharp edge of the cuffs now pressing against his tendons as they continued to dig in.

With a loud, disgusting moan, after what felt like an eternity, Rat-Face finally finished. He stayed like that for a minute, boneless as he panted through the euphoria, before viciously unsheathing himself. Rose wasted no time as she allowed herself to slip onto the floor, curling up into a protective ball with her back to the rest of the cell. Her shoulders shook as she buried her face in her knees.

Rat-Face cleaned and tucked himself back in before picking up Rose's deposited clothes and tossing them back at her. "Get dressed." He snapped, continuing to enjoy his authority and control. Rose didn't move to obey. Rat-Face waited till he had left the cell, locking it securely behind him, and then he gave the order to uncuff the Doctor before he tore his hands to nothing. The Doctor barely heard the click of the cuffs unlocking before he was launching himself forward, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to reach Rose. Nor did he hear the men laughing and joking about as they slammed the containment center door shut behind them.

The Doctor collapsed to his knees beside his companion's trembling body and suddenly hesitated. The moment his fingers brushed the skin of Rose's shoulder she flinched harshly, a sob wrecking through her body. Guilt threatened to completely destroy the Doctor as he tasted bile rising in the back of his throat. He swallowed it down painfully. "Rose…" His voice felt and sounded raw as he struggled to control it. "Rose, it's me. It's just me." He realized he was also trembling as he raised his hands cautiously to hover a few inches above Rose's bare shoulders. His wrists and arms were slicked with bright red blood. "I'm…I'm going to touch your shoulder, is that alright?"

He thought he saw Rose nod slightly and so, very carefully, he placed his hand gently against her skin. This time she didn't flinch at his touch, but rather seemed to shift towards it, never moving from her position. The Doctor took the invitation and cautiously wrapped his arm around her, pulling her in. Rose practically collapsed into his hold and suddenly she was opening crying, clutching at his bare chest as it suddenly all came out. And the Doctor just held her, held her as tightly as he could, wishing he could just absorb her pain and humiliation through the contact, to spare her from it.

Eventually her sobs quieted down. The Doctor's chest was damp with tears now, matching his cheeks. Unwillingly, he looked down at her and felt his face flush with embarrassment and guilt. "Rose…" He whispered again into her hair. "You're bleeding."

And to his ultimate surprise, Rose laughed. "S-so are you." She hiccupped quietly, her voice almost inaudible. The Doctor even managed a short laugh as, for the first time, he really registered that his hands were both bleeding profusely.

"Well," He said, still laughing slightly despite himself. "Look at that." Even Rose's trembling had changed as she repressed a sad giggle. Maybe, just _maybe_ she was going to be alright. Rose Tyler…still the strongest person the Doctor had ever met.


	12. Chapter 12

Soon after, however, was when things began to change. It was like the fact of what really happened had finally set in. The Doctor cautiously offered to look over Rose's injuries, to make sure there was nothing too severe, but she suddenly refused. It was like a switch had flipped. She shoved the Doctor away and quickly started to redress herself, never looking at the Doctor and shying away when he stepped closer to help as she struggled with her shaking hands to button on her blouse. Then she went and sat on the other side of the small cell, curling her knees up to her chest protectively, leaving the Doctor standing confused and alone. For the first time in a long time he was completely unsure of what to do. He felt entirely helpless.

Rose placed her chin on her knees and stared at the ground a few feet in front of her. A painful silence stretched between them. Suddenly Rose felt a shiver run through her body and her face contorted with pain. Her adrenalin was wearing out, her pain receptors losing their shields and letting the full force of the flood come through. It broke the Doctor's hearts even more. "Rose, please." He tried to say reassuringly. "Let me help you." Help you physically, psychologically, any way that could possibly lessen the poisonous guilt turning his insides on fire.

But Rose just snorted and turned her head away. "Yeah, like you helped back there?" Her voice was raw, flat, and although the words were whispered and barely audible, they felt like a wrecking-ball to the gut. The Doctor suddenly felt like there was no air left in the world.  _No, no, Rose, don't do this. This is exactly what_ he  _was trying to cause…_

But the Doctor just nodded minutely, knowing she was right. He could have helped. He could have fought harder. But the moment that knife was pressed against her throat, the moment he had seen  _his_ eyes and had know he would do it – he would kill her if he had to in retribution for Blondie's death – the Doctor had frozen. He couldn't let that monster kill her right in front of him, so he let him violate her instead. In hindsight, the most selfish decision he had ever made, and he  _hated_ himself. Hated himself more then he ever had in all nine hundred plus years of his life. Hated himself more than when he'd destroyed his own planet to stop the war from destroying the whole universe. Hated himself more than he hated the man who had assaulted his Rose. And all he could muster was a useless, pathetic, "I know. I'm sorry. I'm so,  _so_ sorry, Rose."

"That's all you can ever say, isn't it." She voiced quietly, still refusing to even look in his direction. "Maybe you should try not doing stuff that warrants an apology."

The Doctor felt like his knees were about to give out so he quickly sat down, getting down on even level with Rose, sitting cross-legged a few feet in front of her as her entire body tensed with his close proximity. Still her eyes stared determinedly away. "Please, Rose," The Doctor begged, "Just look at me."

She refused. He felt himself deflate, his shoulders slumping in complete despair, as he caught a glimpse of her glassy red eyes as she stared sightlessly at the wall. The seconds of silence pressed against them like a physical barrier, like the matching poles of a magnet trying to repel them, the force of Rose's fear and shame and the Doctor's guilt pushing against each other until the Doctor could almost feel himself being pried away. But he dug his heals in, so to speak, refusing with every fiber of his incredibly stubborn self to back down and let the theoretical wall become a reality. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, wincing at the movement, until his brown locks stood straight up, before returning his hands to his lap. Only then did he realize how much blood was still oozing out of the binding wounds. The skin around his wrists were stained a bright orangey-red, which dripped down his arms onto his crossed legs below, sliding down to form a small pool beneath him on the stone floor. He should have been thinking about wrapping them somehow as he stared at them, stopping the blood flow before he'd lose too much and inevitably fall unconscious, maybe even die. Regeneration, of course, was always an option at least. But no, instead he wondered through the burning of unshed, frustrated tears behind his eyes why he hadn't just allowed the edges of the cuffs to bite clean through his skin and tendons and muscles and bones until he was free and able to  _do_  something. A hand would have been a small loss compared to what it could have prevented. He had lost a limb protecting her (and all of Earth) before, and he would gladly lose even more again.

A sharp, shaky intake of breath shattered his thoughts and he jerked his head up to focus on Rose instead. She was shaking her head faintly as she fought to keep her breath in check, biting her lower lip, her eyes quivering ever so slightly from the effort of repressing even more tears. She was still looking away, and so the Doctor barely even heard her as she whispered brokenly, "How could I?"

The Doctor's mind could decipher her halting question in two different ways. Either she was referring to his request of asking her to look at him, and her newfound hatred for him couldn't allow her to even spare him a glance (He hated that theory). Or she was referring to the earlier incident, the blame bouncing around once again like a pinball and landing on the one person who should never have even qualified for consideration (He hated that theory even more).

"Rose…"

He was interrupted by a horrified sob. "I j-j-jus-st…l-let-t-t…."

"No, no, no, no, no…" The Doctor whispered, mortified, as he pushed himself forward onto his knees, leaning closer to the shuttering blonde fighting for air as her throat constricted painfully. She leaned further back into the wall subconsciously, away from him, but her eyes shot cautiously in his direction. He latched onto those watery brown eyes like a life-preserver and tried to drag them up out of the water they were drowning in. "Let's just go back to blaming me, okay. That was much more fun, right?" He encouraged her honestly. "Come on, shout at me again. Glare at me. Ignore me. Give me the cold shoulder. Punch me in the face. Claw my eyes out. Just…just be mad at  _me_ , don't you dare turn this on yourself." He realized just how desperately he did want to absorb the blame; as if he wasn't worth pardoning – _I'm not_. He had so many more faults, so much more blood on his hands that he almost welcomed another just to keep her from experiencing what he felt every day.

But Rose didn't move. She didn't rise to any of his suggestions. She just stared at him sadly, as if  _he_ were the one who didn't understand, and then infinitesimally began to shake her head. She opened her mouth to speak but the Doctor jumped in. "No!" His voice was so commanding now Rose jumped. "Do not do this. This is not your fault."

A single tear slid down her cheek as he willed her with his unwavering stare to agree, the last remaining drop from the reservoir now nearly all dried up. But still she shook her head. "If I'd j-j-just…"

The Doctor growled with frustration and suddenly flopped down so he was laying on his stomach, head facing Rose, and rolled over onto his back, not knowing how else to express the frustration he was feeling without grabbing the terrified girl by the shoulders and shaking her out of her ridiculous self-imposed blame-game championship. He tore at the edges of his hair as a sudden flame of anger erupted within him. At himself, at Rose, at what _ever_ , he didn't know, but it was there and he suddenly felt like punching something hard and painful.

Rose looked on worriedly, wondering what her madman was doing now, trying to follow his consistently jumping thoughts and figure out why he was writhing on the floor. She was usually so good at reading him, but right now the buzzing in her ears and the pain  _everywhere_  made it almost impossible.

Finally the Doctor flipped back over, his eyes flashing black the way they did when the Oncoming Storm brewed beneath his skin, and slammed his fist into the ground like a gavel. "You were raped, Rose." He stated pointedly, the blatantness of his words slamming into her like a wall of freezing water. His voice, however, was even and solid and  _demanding_ she realize what that meant. "You were taken against your will and held down and hurt and you  _cannot_ trick yourself into mistaking trying to survive for cooperation and consent." He sighed heavily, spent from the outburst, and let his forehead rest on the cold ground, cooling his still flaming-hot skin. After a few heaving breaths to slow his hearts rate he spoke again, not lifting his head.

"When someone holds you at gun point, everyone knows the best thing to do is just hand over the wallet and back away. You did what you had to do to survive, and don't let  _anyone_  tell you different, es _pecially_  yourself. Do you understand me?"

After a frozen second Rose began to nod hesitantly, eyes still staring in surprise at her friend laying spread-eagle on the floor with his face pressed into the ground. Then she realized he couldn't actually see her nodding. "Y-yeah."

The Doctor nodded back without lifting his head. He stayed where he was, flopped on the ground, and in any other situation his position could have almost been comical. The Doctor stayed silent then, the only movement being in his back as her breathed heavily, as if he had been physically fighting. Rose stared at him for a while, noticing absently how his wrists had were still bleeding and the skin beneath his hair was still lobster-red from the sun. But after a minute of silence she let her forehead drop down into the cradle of her arms, her knees still pulled up against her chest. Exhaustion hit her hard, the kind of exhaustion that was so strong and present it was almost impossible to fall asleep with. She glared into the darkness created by her arms when suddenly the Doctor began to speak again, his voice hollow and flat and gravelly, as if he were speaking more to himself in his sleep than consciously out loud.

"I promised to protect you and I couldn't and I'm sorry. I know I keep saying that and those five dumb letters don't mean a damn thing, but they're the only thing keeping me from reaching into my own chest and pulling out my hearts to finally end the pain. Because if I can't protect you then what is the point of me?" Rose didn't answer as he paused, trying to breathe again. He cleared his throat determinedly. "But I'm not going to end it. Because I'm never allowing this mistake again. I'm going to protect you, Rose Tyler, because I'd rather live with this endless poison burning me up from the inside out for a thousand billion more years than to see you in any pain for even more than a second. So you can be mad and you can hate me and you can push me away if you want, but I'm not going to budge."

Two long, agonizing minutes accompanied the end of his miniature growled speech as he continued to lie on the ground as if he hadn't just spoken. His hands had balled into furious fists as they pressed against the floor. Finally Rose hiccupped softly to clear her throat and stated in the most normal tone she could muster, as if it were the most obvious and ordinary thing she had ever said, "I can't hate you, Doctor. I love you."

The Doctor stopped breathing. His hearts stopped beating for a second as his brain stopped its whirling long enough to recognize and interpret the meaning of those three incredibly human words. Then finally with a quick, shallow, shaky breath he lifted his head and neck up just enough to meet Rose's eyes and fix her with a look that told her everything.

* * *

Not long after Rose finally fell into a light sleep, curled up on her side against the wall. The Doctor had seen the way her eyes were drooping with exhaustion – the day had been too filled with physical and emotional trauma and was better left behind – and asked if she wanted to move onto the bunk. But she quickly cast the shelf a disgusted, horrified look and suppressed a shudder as she shook her head  _no_.

The Doctor understood immediately. And as soon as she had fallen into blessed unconsciousness the Doctor stood and tore the thin mattress off the shelf, disgusted to see sweat and blood and other fluids dampening it. He ripped a line of the covering fabric off before tossing the whole mattress through the bars of their cell into the hallway outside, aiming his throw so the offending object slid down the hall and out of immediate view. Then he took the strips of fabric and wrapped them tightly around his wrists, tying them off tightly with a grimace of pain. He was beginning to feel lightheaded and sleepy and knew he had treaded dangerously close to bleeding out. But his body would replenish the supply soon, his regenerative energy already at work, causing his skin to glow slightly gold as the magic happened beneath his skin.

He collapsed down the wall a few feet from Rose's side and forced his eyes to stay open. His body and mind had gone through so much punishment recently and he ached to fall into a healing coma, both mentally and physically. But he fought off the weariness and instead opted to watch Rose breathing evenly, almost peacefully, by his side. He took the time to look her over, marking each finger-shaped bruise around her throat and wrists and the congealed blood on her ear and neck from where  _he_  had bitten too hard and broke skin with the rising heat of anger. He harnessed that and stored it away, deep within the recesses of his mind. He had no use for the boiling rage now and it would only make him do something stupid and regretful.

But the lid had barely closed on Pandora's mental box when he heard the containment center door slide quietly open. Smooth, steady footsteps came down the hall with the unmistakable sound of combat boots. The Doctor jumped to his feet, making sure not to make any noise with the movement and risk waking Rose as he moved to stand between her and the bar. A man appeared on the other side, skirting cautiously and curiously around the discarded mattress blockading half the hallway, dressed just as everyone else in the Drephesh Outpost fatigues. The Doctor felt his scowl grow. "Where's the Rat?" He growled threateningly as the man got closer, feeling his rage for that Rat-Face'd monster burning its way through his system again with renewed vigor, creating a sour taste at the back of his throat.

The man – or rather, the Doctor realized with a start, the  _boy_  (he looked no older that an eighteen year old human would) – took a step back as he became the unwarranted and unfortunate focus of the Time Lord's fury. He took an almost indiscernible step backwards as he made eye contact with the Doctor and became mesmerized and  _terrified_ of the burning black glare the found within those ancient orbs. He opened his mouth as if to say something, closed it, swallowed, and instead just shifted the bundle in his arms. That's when the Doctor noticed that he'd been carrying in quite a bit of stuff. He saw two bowls of their usual gross meal (the Doctor's stomach growled anyway with hunger as the healing took its toll), two canteens of water, a pinstriped bundle of what had been the Doctor's clothes, and, to the Doctor's utter surprise, two blankets, a bottle of what looked like medical disinfectant, and a rolled-up wad of clean bandages.

The Doctor's expression instantly softened, his eyes returning to their usual kind brown depth. This boy had absolutely nothing to do with what had happened and the Doctor had no right angling his anger towards him; he was only doing his job, and right now that included bringing the Doctor and Rose some very essential items. The Doctor tried to smile and hoped it looked like his usual convincing mask. "I'm sorry, it's been a rough week."

The boy just nodded slowly and seemed to relax a little bit, but he kept a wary orange eye on the Doctor all the same, who continued to smile. "I'm the Doctor, what's your name?" The boy didn't seem like he had the same superiority complex as the rest of the outpost members, nor the arrogance. In fact, he seemed almost childlike, a bit nervous but eager. Not nearly like a bad person, simply…a boy. The Doctor felt a pang of pity run through him as he realized these traits would soon be driven from him by the hatred of these people.

After a moment, the boy finally responded. "Tenre."

"Thank you, Tenre." The Doctor said as he nodded towards the supplies in the boy's hand. Tenre lips formed on 'O' as he seemed to suddenly remember again why he'd been sent in in the first place. He knelt down so he could place the objects on the floor before handing them through the bars to the Doctor one at a time. The Doctor graciously accepted each item passed to him.

"So where are you from?" He asked conversationally but quietly enough so as not to wake Rose.

Tenre looked startled by the casual question, nearly dropping the bottle of disinfectant. After he scrambled to pick it back up he cleared his throat. "A small town just outside of Lacapit…that's the capital city." He explained quietly as he passed the bottle through. The Doctor smiled.

"Yes, I've been to Lacapit once before. A long, long time ago in the future. It was nice – well…at least at the time it was. Didn't find myself behind bars that time. Well, actually, that's sort of a lie…" He scratched his head as he tried to remember  _exactly_  what had happened, but it had been a few hundred years ago, so his memory was a bit blurry. Suddenly with a jolt he realized Tenre was still there, watching him curiously, holding out one of the bowls of slop. The Doctor shook himself out of his memories. "So do you miss it? Still got some family over there?"

Tenre shrugged, seeming far more casual now. "It was okay I suppose. But no – no family. Not any more, at least."

The Doctor felt another pang of pity hit him as the boy turned away his eyes, the topic obviously taking an unwanted turn. "So!" The Doctor exclaimed as he examined the bandages he'd been passed. "You joined the post. Had it always been a life goal of yours to end up in the middle of the desert?" He knew the question was probably still straying a bit too close to home for the boy, but he was, admittedly, curious about why this boy, who seemed nothing like the other hostile, discriminating characters on the grounds, would choose to join…or whether he had a choice at all.

Tenre gave a cutoff laugh. "No. It's going to sound dumb, but…" He paused, eyeing the Doctor. "I always wanted to see the stars, so after Academy I applied for the service, hoping to be a shuttle pilot, but they said I didn't have the right qualifications to be part of the interplanetary division."

"That's not dumb at all." The Doctor smiled again. "And what other qualifications do you need besides the desire?"

The boy shrugged and stood. "A whole lot, but an alien wouldn't understand. We have a more sophisticated education system here." The Doctor was taken aback by the sudden change in the boy, shocked by how quickly he wrote off a different species. That shock was followed by a swift sadness as he realized it might already be too late for him. Either way, the Doctor shook his head as he, too, stood and gave Tenre a sad look.

"Who knows, Tenre. Maybe one day you will get to see those stars."

The boy said nothing more as he turned and left. The Doctor glanced down at their new meager supplies, around the cell, down the hall, catching the last glimpse of Tenre's boots move around the bend before settling on Rose still curled up against the wall. He draped one of the new blankets over her, carefully tucking it around her so as not to startle her with his touch, before slowly creeping over to the small barred window set high on one of the walls. He craned his neck around at different angles, pressing his body against the wall, but could see no hint of the night sky. He branched out with his mind but the TARDIS was, as ever, just slightly too far away to reach. He slid down the wall, pulling the roll of bandages towards him and carefully untied his makeshift wraps, the gravity of their situation and the intense, unpleasant tang of loneliness pressing down on his exhausted body until the pressure became tangible and he gave up his fight against his eyelids and let himself escape into unconsciousness.


	13. Chapter 13

The Doctor woke moments later to the sound of whimpering.

Or at least he thought it had only been moments, but since the cuts on his wrists had already started to scab over and his once red skin was now fading to a deep brown he guessed it had probably been longer. Rotating his wrists gently to test their healing, the Doctor searched the cell for the source of the noise.

Rose was now laying on her back where she had been before, her blonde hair draped over and shrouding her face as she twitched slightly in her sleep. The Doctor heard another quiet whine escape her lips as she flinched in her sleep and gently scooted across the cell to her side, his hearts heavy as he saw her eyes dancing devilishly behind her sealed lids, giving away the nightmare she was having. Sweat lightly dotted her forehead and her lips were quivering with silent cries.

He couldn't stand seeing her like this. Hating herself, hating him, terrified when she was awake and terrified still when she was asleep. He still believed in her – she was and will always be the strongest creature the Doctor had ever encountered – but the event was just too fresh, too present in the forefront of her memories, haunting her consciousness as she battled unsuccessfully to press passed it. Eventually the Doctor knew she'd be successful, perhaps not recovering from it completely but at least coming to terms with what had happened and who she was. He thought back to that dark time so very long ago when he had been engaged in the same battle as she was and felt a surge of bitterness rise to the back of his throat as the torturous memories made their way back into his life. He clamped down on them, quickly shunning the images and thoughts and emotions that unwelcomingly assaulted him to the metal box at the back of his mind where he kept the other monsters of his past and wished on every star he had even encountered that Rose would find a way to do the same.

But even so the task would not be easy, and it would not come quick. And so, selfishly, the Doctor found himself gnawing on his lower lip, wondering if it was a crime to take it all away. Ones memories were their own sacred property, good or bad, wanted or unwanted. Your memories and experiences define who you are and who you become and to take that away would be to take away a part of someone's being and existence.

But the Doctor did not want to know how this particular experience would affect his companion. Is it then, if the memory is so horrible and devastating that it could, in fact, distress the positive growth of a being, acceptable to deprive that being of the recollection? Would he not be thanked afterwards for the meddling? And besides – the Doctor attempted to rationalize as he massaged his aching temples, trying to warm up his mind – if he allowed this experience to become a part her, the Time Lord believed it would actually destroy the 'essence' of Rose, cannibalize that which makes Rose Rose until she is no longer herself at all. In which case, by doing so, the Doctor would actually be  _saving_ her life…right?

The arguments danced around the Doctor's head in even more convoluted manners, twisting themselves around and writhing like mercury just out of grasp of his understanding and revelation. Either way, the Doctor justified, he would not be able to accomplish a full memory wipe or altercation –  _no, wait, altercation would be even worse, let's not go there_ – without the help of the TARDIS, and his beloved ship was simply too far away.

As if a light bulb had gone off inside his brilliant mind, the Doctor decided on a plan of action that satisfied all battling sides of his conscience and morals. Rose whimpered again, this time accompanied but a short, muffled shout as her dreams continued to torment her. She was deep in the clutches of unconsciousness where her nightmares grew from reality and, therefore,  _were_ reality to her confused and sleep-ridden mind. Carefully as ever, the Doctor lovingly brushed her golden hair from her face and pressed the tips of his fingers against her temples, opening his mind to hers.

Instantly Rose stilled, sucking in a gasp for air through her teeth as the Doctor connected his consciousness with hers. He saw it all, the horror going on inside her mind, like a film projection against the hallways of her mind, every other door along the corridor closed and locked so she was forced to watch it all unfold before her again. The Doctor felt guilt slam into him for the thousandth time that minute; guilt for trespassing into her mind and guilt for what was playing in her dreams. He saw what she saw, felt her fear. He saw him. Saw Rat-Face leering at him through the darkness. Felt his hands groping as he hissed snakelike in his ear.  _Worthless. Whore. Slave._

A rumble of thunder shook the corridors of Rose's mind as the Doctor angrily vanished, landing instead in the control center of her subconscious. And there was the memory, so fresh and green, clawing for attention at the vanguard of her mind. Methodically, the Doctor took hold of it, compress it down. He couldn't destroy it, no matter his desire, so he did the one thing he could think of to help. He aged the memory, sending it further back into the recesses of her mind. She still had it. The memory was still there. The thoughts, the feelings, the reminiscence of pain, but the scars of time had already started to scab over it, artificial as they were. When she awoke it would be as if the incident had happened weeks ago rather than hours ago and she would finally be able to begin the healing process.

However, returning to the hallway, the Doctor saw the dreams still unfolding, now dimmer and distant, but the idea was still there. That, the Doctor knew, would never go away. And so he got to work on that as well. Brushing back another strand of hair, the Doctor readjusted his grip on Rose's mind before implanting his own images. Images of expansive fields of tall red grass surrounded by trees with silver leaves and matching fruit of unexplainable flavors. Images of rust colored lakes that reflected the orange of the sky and the twin suns that set the forests below on fire with light. He imparted the sensation of a warm breeze as snow began to fall on the two peaked mountains far off in the distance in the distance.

Back in reality, Rose lips twitched with a content smile in her sleep as the Doctor slipped gently out of her mind, a single tear falling from his downcast eyes.

* * *

Another hour stretched on without incident. The Doctor got redressed, gritting his teeth as the fabric of his clothes kept the heat in from his hot skin, making him feel like he was on fire again. He folded up the second blanket and gingerly lifted Rose's head in order to slip it under as a pillow while she finally slept peacefully, lost in the images of old Gallifrey. All this movement had reopened the thin scabs around the Doctor's slashed wrists and they were beginning to bleed lazily again. The disinfectant stung painfully as he rubbed it into his torn skin and it smelled of rancid chemicals, but he knew the last thing he needed was to get an infection, especially in this cell that, quite frankly, could have used some spring cleaning.

Wrists cleaned and rewrapped (poorly, seeing as he only had one already painful hand to do so), the Doctor could think of nothing else to do but dive into his bowl of sludge. He didn't want to wake Rose now that she had finally fallen into a quiet sleep and he was, admittedly, starving, much of his energy having been used during the struggle and then to heal himself, and even this repulsive mound of brownish-green muck tasted better than starvation.

The gruel tasted as horrible as he remembered but he managed to force down a few bites. The water helped to wash down the disgusting taste, but he didn't want to use it all up. Who knew when they'd be getting more; with all these sudden 'gifts' they might think they didn't need to be bothered with their prisoners for a while more.

The Doctor had just shoveled in another bite when he glanced up and noticed Rose's eyes were open, staring at him expressionlessly from where she continued to lay sprawled on the floor. Her eyes settled somewhere on his chest, however, not anywhere near his eyes. The Doctor chocked down his mouthful, cringing as the unpleasant taste and texture slid slowly down his throat. Tilting his head to the side as he observed her, the Doctor flashed her one of his broad smiles and said as welcomingly and cheerfully as he dared, "Good morning!"

Her eyes momentarily flashed between the bowl of sludge and the Doctor's smiling face before she lightly bit into her lower lip, the corners of her mouth flicking upwards into what possibly could have been the beginning of a smile. "Looks like you're enjoying that." She indicated with a twitch of head that she meant the slop. The Doctor considered the sludge sticking stubbornly to his spoon.

"Yep! Straight off the gourmet specials menu. Ordered two, actually. Spare no expenses, that's my style." He slid the other bowl across the short expanse as Rose pushed herself into a sitting position, wincing slightly as her sore body fought to obey the simple command. He wanted so badly to jump up and help her but he waited for her to ask, give him permission, not wanting to startle her with quick movements and contact so soon. He needed to let her figure out what she was comfortable with and help her grow on that first.

She eyed the bowl with a look of nothing short of abhorrence. With great trepidation she picked up the spoon and poked it with the end. Just like before, it bounced suspiciously right back into place. She felt her stomach flip over unpleasantly. "What I wouldn't give for a pizza right now." She muttered to herself.

"Pretend it's chocolate pudding." The Doctor suggested as he scooped a fraction onto his own utensil and glared at it. "You know…just with bits of…things in it. Like chocolate chips and gummy worm candies."

Rose nipped at it experimentally. "That's disgusting."

"Good source of protein at least."

"I think I'm going to be sick…" Rose dropped the bowl, the spoon clattering across the floor, as she coughed the retched taste out. Her face had taken on a greenish tinge as she gagged dryly. There was nothing in her stomach to come out. Now the Doctor moved forward, sliding in to sit next to her as she heaved to the other side and holding back her hair for her just in case. She didn't seem to object to the touch. He ran a comforting hand up and down her arm as she shook and uncapped one of the water canteens. As her retching subsided he handed her the jug and she drank greedily from it, trying to wash down the sour taste in her mouth. The Doctor knew the symptoms and felt guilty as he realized she was experiencing Invasion Sickness; the body's reaction to trying to ward off an alien intrusion in the mind of someone with less psychic awareness. He was, once again, causing her pain.

She handed back the canteen, wiping a stray drop of water from her chin, when suddenly she froze. The Doctor saw her eyes go distant, hazy, before rapidly coming back alive with fear. She jumped as the Doctor tried to bring her back to reality with a light squeeze of the hand and instinctively shuffled away from him, upturning the bowl of sludge, terror and tears burning behind her eyes. "D-D-Doctor?" She whimpered, horrified, stumbling over her frantic words. "What if…W-what if…can I be…m-morning s-s-sickness?" The last word escaped her like a whoosh of air from a curse as she stared at him desperately.

The Doctor almost burst into laughter. Almost. If it hadn't been for the look of absolute horror and dread on Rose's face he might have. But instead he forced himself to try to stay serious, reminding his ancient brain that his companion was still relatively new to the ways of the universe. "No, Rose, don't worry." He chuckled reassuringly through his slight smile. "Drepheshies and humans aren't exactly…compatible…in that sense."

He could feel her relief sweeping off her as she sighed, her shoulders seeming to deflate as the tension of fear left her. She didn't, however, move back to sit beside the Doctor. A stressed silence fell between them as Rose carefully began to pick up the spilled sludge, scooping the remains of what she clearly had no intention of eating back into the bowl. The Doctor would chastise her for that later, knowing she hadn't eaten in a while and needed to keep up her strength, but now was not the time. Instead he fiddled absently with the canteen cap still clutched in his hand before trying to venture back into possible conversation.

"By the way," He began as casually as he could. "How are you feeling?"

Rose didn't respond immediately. She set the bowl down and stared at it for a while, tongue sticking out from between her teeth as she thought. Subconsciously she had curled back into the fetal position, knees drawn up to her chest, without even having noticed it. When at last she finally did speak, it was not exactly what the Doctor had expected her to say.

"I'm sorry about last night."

A moment of pause to see if she was going to continue. "That's not an answer." The Doctor remarked quietly.

Rose gave a short, humorless huff of laughter. "It's the only one I can give." Her voice flipped up on the last syllable, as if she was asking if that were so instead of saying it, not entirely convinced herself. She sighed and picked up the spoon, twirling it between her fingers. "I dunno…" She finally admitted. "I fell asleep all terrified and humiliated and hurt, and woke up just…blank. Like it had happened years ago and I was just waking up from a very vivid nightmare. " She paused then, nibbling on the end of her spoon before her eyebrows dipped in the middle, a curious frown forming on her face. "Am I making any sense?"

The Doctor sniffed and shrugged superciliously. "Why do we always need to make sense? So boring. Dull. Life's no fun without nonsense. No mystery in it at all." He yawned to make his point.

Rose laughed and the Doctor's hearts soared at the sound. Her features couldn't hold onto the fleeting burst of mirth, falling back into a blank stated mask, but it had been there. It had existed. She coughed quietly to clear her throat. "Okay, your turn, mister. Those wraps look like they were done by a blind five year old."

"Oh, excuse me!" The Doctor jumped on the playful defensive as he held his bandaged wrists to his chest. "I'm sorry my bandaging skills aren't up to your standard, Dr. Tyler. I  _am_  a Doctor, after all."

"Yeah, a Doctor of what exactly? Eggs?"

"…And other things." He admitted sorely as he held his wrist out to her. She rolled the bandages back carefully to inspect his lacerated wrists. Orange-ish blood had seeped through the lower layers.

"Where'd you get the bandages from, anyway?" She voiced as she rolled them up.

"Our gracious hosts were kind enough to bring us some supplies." There was no mistaking the venom that had managed to seep into his voice as he mentioned their 'hosts'. "Even included some disinfectant medication

Rose glanced around thoughtfully. "Bandages, medicine, food and water, blankets – someone's feeling generous."

"Or guilty." He guessed through clenched teeth.

Rose didn't reply. She dabbed some new disinfectant on them despite the Doctor's protests that he'd already done so and began to rewrap them. The Doctor made no further moves towards conversation either. The silence that had fallen between them was finally relaxed, familiar. He still noticed the stiffness in Rose's shoulders, the way she still hadn't met his eye, but he knew this wasn't going to be over with and forgotten quickly. He just had to make sure to be there for her wherever she needed him to be. And if that happened to be sitting on the opposite side of the cell just to make her feel comfortable, so be it.

Their calm moment was suddenly interrupted by a loud whirling and whooshing and grinding of metal and engines. The Doctor glanced skyward and Rose's head darted back and forth, trying to identify the location of the sound. The Doctor knew it though. He recognized the make of those engines. A  _Skyfarer Mark IV_ , ironically of future human design that the Drephesh had pirated and redone. The Doctor's hearts sank as the sound of the vessel came closer, hovering over the outpost's landing base. Rose followed his eyes upwards as she leaned in closer to his body.

"What is that?" She asked quietly as if the offending noise was listening to her in return.

The Doctor didn't respond immediately. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed heavily. "Seven days." He muttered without looking down. "It's been seven days."

"What does that mean?" Rose asked worriedly.

The Doctor's eyes flitted around the room, looking for one last chance of escape, as he answered. "It means they're here. It's the Eyal slave ship, landing in the courtyard for us."


	14. Chapter 14

The Doctor helped Rose slowly to her feet as the containment center door flew open. He noticed in some part of his mind how Rose tried to hold her head high, hands balled into fists at her side, while at the same time angling her shaking body behind the Doctor's. She always tried to be so brave.

But the rest of his mind was focused on the footsteps of the new arrival. They were singular – only one man – quick and light as if moving on the balls of his feet. The Doctor sniffed deeply, pulling in the smell. Human.

Captain Ren appeared on the other side of the bars, glancing around the rest of the hallway and into the holding cells on either side. He turned to face the Doctor and Rose, looking nervous, and opened his mouth as if to begin saying something, but paused. His forehead wrinkled as he caught sight of the discarded mattress, the bright red of dried blood staining the bars and across the floor, and the ruffled, wary appearance of his two 'prisoners'. He frowned. "What the hell happened here?"

Suddenly the Doctor felt incredibly angry again at the man in front of them. A growl formed deep in his throat as his lips shaped into a snarl. "Can't even keep track of your own men,  _captain_? Maybe you should ask your rodent faced friend about what happened."

"Doctor," Rose reined him back in with that one softly spoken word. The Doctor felt his anger swiftly dissipate at the confused, stunned look on Ren's face. The captain's gaze landed on Rose as he suddenly became aware of how her shoulders slumped forward slightly and the way she stood behind the Doctor's body like a shield. He took a concerned step forward, staring at her intently.

"Were – I mean – Did they…?"

He stopped, unable to even finish the questions, but the way Rose's eyes flitted to the floor at the question was answer enough. Ren bristled. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable and…furious. "Rose," He finally said, his voice thick and heavy with empathy. "I am really, truly sorry, I had no idea." He paused as he gazed at her. " _No one_  deserves that."

The Doctor's eyes narrowed questioningly as he saw something flash across the captain's face, a soft glisten in his sympathetic eyes that told him his mind had suddenly gone far off. The Doctor opened his mouth to ask about it when Ren seemed to snap back to reality, gaze zipping back to the Doctor.

"You don't have much time." He announced, suddenly all business. "They just got here."

"Yeah, we heard." The Doctor knew who  _they_ were.

Ren approached the cell door, drawing out one of its complicated keys from his pocket. Rose inhaled sharply as he unlocked the door, pulling it open a few inches so it wouldn't accidentally be relocked. The Doctor's suspicious didn't waiver.

"I'm supposed to be meeting the collectors at the landing base right now, but unfortunately got delayed making it there." Ren gave the Doctor a meaningful look. "I can distract them with all the proper etiquette and paperwork for a while, and 'my' men will probably be too focused on their arrival to be paying much attention to the outer arms of the outpost. This might be your last chance to get out free."

The Doctor raised his chin slightly and observed the captain. Humanity was now radiating off of him; the Doctor could practically smell it. After all these years playing actor in these foreign deserts, Ren had not abandoned that one monumental human trait.

"What about you?" Rose piped in. Ren sighed and glanced around, anxious to leave in time.

"If you both get stuck in Eyal, then I have absolutely no hope of making it home. At least this way I can hope you'll decide to come back for me. The way I see it, it's either a fifty percent chance or an a hundred percent chance I'm trapped here forever."

"Why not just come with us now?"

Ren shook his head. "I need to distract the men and the collectors for this to work. It's going to be a close call as it is; middle of the day, men still on shift. Just wait ten minutes before you go so I can get them all holed up in my office first…and to eliminate me from suspicion." Ren shrugged at the last comment as he fixed the pair with a stare that begged so plainly  _come back for me._  The Doctor found himself only able to nod his silent promise.

"There are two possible ways out that would be the easiest." Ren continued. He spoke quickly as time continued to tick on. The collectors might already be unloading off their ship by now. "The first one is up some stairs –"

"You don't have time." The Doctor interrupted. He took two large steps to the bars, fitting his arms between them and reaching out to touch the sides of Ren's forehead. Ren jerked back at first, eyeing the Doctor suspiciously. "Just think the paths and I'll see them." His fingers connected with Ren's temples, just as they had with Rose's not long ago, and he let his mind latch onto the unguarded information in front of him. Ren gasped as he felt the foreign fingers press against his mind, but he did as the Doctor instructed, bringing forward the images of the best flight paths for the two.

It didn't take long. The Doctor memorized the layout within seconds and retreated from the captain's mind. He opened his eyes to see Ren's pupils dilated beneath the orange contacts with shock at the new experience, but they soon faded back to normalcy, the actor soldiering on through the blunder in his lines.

"Thank you." The Doctor placed as much emphasis and sincerity into the two syllables as he could. Ren simply nodded, still speechless, but when the Doctor began to turn back he grabbed onto the Time Lord's hand, demanding his attention one more time. The Doctor looked up with questioning surprise.

Ren motioned towards Rose. "Get her home safe." He instructed with a quirked eyebrow. "Get her back to her parents. Her family."

The Doctor's earlier suspicious about the glint in Ren's eye proved correct with those demands. He smiled and squeezed Ren's hand reassuringly.

"I'll get you back to yours soon, too." He assured as his promise. Ren bowed his head and, with a quick nod towards Rose in good-bye, ran from the containment center. Both prisoners stood still and silent for a minute, just listening, before the Doctor swiveled around, messing up his hair as he did so. "Phewwww, two psychic links in one day, really shouldn't be this exhausting."

Rose glanced at him through the corner of her eye, confused. "Two?" She asked as she thought something was beginning to click inside her head.

The Doctor froze as he realized he'd said that out loud, and suddenly he found himself questioning whether Rose really  _would_ forgive him for going into her mind, altering her perception, manipulating her memories. Listed like that it sounded like an absolutely horrendous breach in personal rights and boundaries, even to the Doctor. But his guilty, surprised statue didn't last more than a second as he bounced forward with feigned energy, pretending he hadn't heard her question. Was he ever able to pull one over on Rose Tyler, though? "Alrighty then!" He clapped his hands together. "Ten minutes to kill!"

"When was the other time?"

"Now, do you think we should take the stairs or the tunnel out? I think the stairs are our best bet –"

"You said  _two_ psychic links, when was the other one?"

"Although the tunnel would provide some nice cover…or trap us inside –"

"Doctor."

The Doctor froze as she snapped his name. Rose was staring at him wide-eyed, arms crossed over her chest as she demanded an explanation with her large brown eyes. The Doctor sighed heavily, searching his brain for an excuse.  _Any_ excuse. He couldn't afford to lose her trust now.

Acting defeated, deflated, the Doctor came up with a quick lie. "Why do you think they brought us all these supplies?" He motioned towards the blankets and medication.

Rose raised her eyebrows. "I thought you said it was because someone was feeling guilty." Her tone blatantly conveying that she wasn't buying into it.

This time, however, the Doctor didn't have to lie with his response. "Yes, someone was. Me."

* * *

Ten minutes passed like molasses during the Ice Age. The Doctor stretched out his hearing as far as he could, straining to hear the sound of approaching footsteps or snippets of conversations out in the hallway. The entire time he heard nothing. His internal clock ticked away at the seconds until six hundred of them had passed. Time to go.

The cell door creaked as the Doctor pushed it open, jarringly loud amidst the silence of the room and the two prisoner's desperation. Turning back to Rose, he held out his hand, offering it to her with a playful wiggle of his fingers. For a moment Rose just stared at it, a frown forming in her eyes, before she brushed it away and slowly moved forward, slipping her hand into his. A second later every hint of hesitation evaporated as she entwined her fingers in his, squeezing gently. "Let's do this." She whispered with new found determination.

It was with a smile that the Doctor pulled Rose out of the cell for the last time, guiding her down the hallway towards the heavy doors. The last time he had charged through them he'd been on his own, having left Rose behind. And while he was relieved she hadn't been shot down and punished as he had been, there was still a part of him that felt guilty about leaving her behind in the first place. Now they were both hurrying down the hallway, running on the balls of their feet, Rose limping slightly as she moved, with their hands still clasped together. The Doctor thought back one impossibly long week ago to when they'd been fleeing from the Drephesh natives, bolting down that rocky hill hand-in-hand as they were now. How had everything gone so wrong so fast?

They paused at the door, the Doctor listening for any signs of movement on the other side. When he was sure there was nothing and no one there he pushed the door open, happy that it made no noise, and with a reassuring smile drew Rose with him out into the hall.

The corridor was just as he remembered it: long and conventional and deserted. Instead of going right like last time, the Doctor darted to the left, following the mental map Ren had provided for him. They had decided on the stairs route which would lead them up onto the lowest roof of the outpost. From their they could bypass the entire courtyard and gate, avoiding the top interest areas of the complex where the most attention would be directed.

They hurdled around a corner in their haste to find the escape route when the Doctor jumped backwards, twirling back around the turn and clamping a hand over Rose's mouth to cut off her gasp as the movement surprised her. She tensed, eyes widening as she heard the unmistakable sounds of marching boots. Their eyes quickly scanned their hallway, looking for anything – a room, a broom cupboard, a hole in the wall – they could use to hide, but there was nothing. The Doctor pressed a finger to his lips as he chanced another look around the corner.

The two guards were making their way closer, chatting to each other casually as they carried between them a large black bag. The Doctor recognized them. They had been on the patrol with Blondie and Rat-Face when the Doctor and Rose had been captured.

Rose tugged on his sleeve, trying to pull him back down the corridor and out of sight on the other side, but the Doctor held up his hand. They didn't have time. The guards were getting too close to try to avoid and the corridor was too long; if they turned down this way they would still be able to see the retreating backs of the two prisoners. Their only hope was that the guards would keep going straight…or to face them.

The Doctor heard the new angle of the footsteps and groaned inwardly. They were turning down their hall. He squeezed Rose's hand reassuringly before stepping forward, rolling his shoulders. Fighting was never his favorite option, but right now all he cared about was getting Rose and himself out.

The footsteps were louder now, pounding through the Doctor's ears. They would be turning the corner in three…two…one…

The Doctor lashed out, driving a straight arm into the closest guard's neck. He collapsed backwards, stunned and chocking, grabbing at his assaulted windpipe. The other guard jumped in surprise and dropped the cargo they were carrying, which crashed to the ground heavily and, unfortunately, rather loudly. He froze, clearly not having been expecting to encounter any trouble within their own halls, but the Doctor gave him no time to recover. He launched forward, crouching down and drawing his leg around, catching the guard on the back of the knee. His leg gave out under him and he crashed forward, but at the last second managed to pull into a tumble. He jumped back to his feet, spinning around and throwing a punch that the Doctor expertly avoided. Another fist came flying towards him but the Doctor twisted and twirled out of the way, jabbing at the various pressure points of the body.

This time, however, instead of a fist flying at him, it was the side of a cattle prod, the tip flashing dangerously as electricity danced between the two prongs. The Doctor barely evaded it, his whole body arching backwards until his upper body almost created a right angle with his lower. As he launched back up the Doctor drove two fingers into the guard's neck, just above the sternum. The guard suddenly became lifeless. He crumpled to the floor as if every bone in his body had suddenly decided to take the day off. He was unconscious instantly. The cattle prod fell from his grasp and rolled harmlessly across the floor.

The Doctor didn't have time to celebrate his victory. A thick arm suddenly wound its way around his neck, pulling him backwards and off his feet. He clawed at the arm, scrapping at flesh, as he chocked and gasped for air. The arm was incredibly strong. Then suddenly agony filled him as another prod was brought down on his side, sending its current coursing through his body. He writhed in the guard's hold, trying to escape, unable to even drag in a fragment of delicious air.

Suddenly the arm released him as the Doctor heard a loud  _CLUNK_. He spun around, gasping, holding his own bruised throat, to see Rose standing behind the second crumpled body, cattle prod in hand. She held it strongly by the shaft, the heavy handle pointed down and now covered with blood and bits of hair. She smiled at him through the adrenaline before dropping the prod heavily on the unconscious man's head. The handle hit him again with a heavy _thunk_. "Sorry." Rose whispered unapologetically to the man.

"Nice one." The Doctor smiled as he massaged his throat. "Come on, let's find a place to hide them." He grabbed the wrists of the larger man who had just tried to pull his head off and began to drag him towards the hallway they'd just come from. Rose followed his lead, haul the other guard slowly and choppily behind her. He was much heavier than he looked.

Luckily for them there was an open closet just a few feet down the corridor. The Doctor quickly shoved the two guards in and went to close the door when Rose suddenly jammed it with her toe. "Wait." She bent down and, after a bit of rummaging, managed to pull out both of their radios. The Doctor glowed.

"Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant, you are." He took one of the radios from her. Not only could the guards not alert anyone if they wake up, but now Rose and the Doctor would be able to hear if the alarm had been raised. So far the frequencies were silent.

"Allons-y!" The Doctor chirped as he took hold of Rose's hand once again and charged down the corridor. They needed to hurry. Who knew how long Ren would be able to distract the collectors without arousing suspicion of himself. And not only did they need to make it to the roof before the alarm is sounded, but they also needed to make sure they were far enough away that the guards wouldn't just hop in their little tank-carts and drag them back in.

The Doctor paused at a fork in the hall and mentally assessed his map.  _Right._  He burst to the right and came crashing to a halt. All there was was one heavy looking door. For a fraction of a beat the Doctor just stared at it. He had not seen this in Ren's plans. "No…this isn't supposed to be here." He whispered frantically.

Rose tried the handle, pulling on it with all her might, but the door wouldn't budge. More than ever the Doctor wished he still had his handy-dandy screwdriver. They were so close to the rooftop access he could actually  _smell_ it. He could smell the burnt sand outside, the heat of the sun and the way it crisped the metal of the outpost walls. He took the handle himself and shook it violently. Nothing. He rammed his shoulder into the solid metal. Nothing. Well, not exactly nothing – now he had a heavily bruised shoulder, too.

"Okay, what about the tunnel?" Rose asked with desperation on her voice. The Doctor closed his eyes as he brought forward the new map, backtracking in his mind to the corridor they needed to reach in order to be on route to the tunnel access.

He opened his eyes to see Rose staring at him expectantly. Slowly he began to nod.  _Was this possible?_ "If we're  _extremely_ lucky and sprint the whole way, we might be able to make it." The collectors had landed nearly twenty minutes ago. How much longer did they have?

They got their answer almost instantly. Both radios buzzed to life, startling Rose and causing the Doctor to jump slightly. They'd both forgotten that they had taken them. The radios cackled a bit more before a frenetic voice came through on the other end. " _Prisoner escape! I repeat, prisoner escape! Down in corridor ten. I think they're headed towards the corridor eleven's roof access!"_

Rose quickly covered her mouth. One of the guard's they had taken out must have reawakened. The Doctor held back an extremely colorful Gallifreyan curse and spun back towards the door. He rammed into it again, jerking on the handle, pulling with all his Time Lord strength and the pushing just in case. The door groaned under the assault but otherwise made no indication of planning to open.

"Doctor, come on! We have to go!" Rose gabbed the back of his jacket and pulled him backwards towards the hallway they had just used. The message was out, there was no point in staying quiet and stealthy anymore. Frustrated, the Doctor allowed Rose to pull him back to reality. They sprinted back down the hall, trying to flip the directions around so they could make their way back to the beginning. All that time had been a waste, and now they were racing against both the clock and the guards.

The radios buzzed back to life as another message came through. The Doctor froze in his tracks as an all too familiar voice wafted through the system. " _We're in corridor nine heading up._ " Rat-Face announced with his usual high, oily voice. The Doctor heard Rose gasp.

" _Copy, and we're in fourteen aiming to intersect. They haven't passed us yet._ "

The Doctor spun around, looking for something,  _anything,_  any way out of this situation. He could already hear footsteps coming from the lower numbered halls –  _Rat-Face's hoard_ , the Doctor thought with a pang of anger and revulsion. For a moment he was tempted to rush down to meet them, plow into Drephesh monster and claw that smug look off his sharp, rodent-like face. But he shut that emotion down instantly. Now was not the time to be rash.

Rose clung to his arm as she jerked her head back and forth, finally hearing the sound of the approaching footsteps as well. "Doctor, what do we do?" She looked up at the Time Lord despairingly. The Doctor's own forlorn look did not help to ease her racing heart.

They retreated once again, heading back towards the locked door, but this time turned left instead. They Doctor's eyes scanned for any sign of an escape route, or even a place to hide, but the corridor they turned down was simply lined with thick pipes that excreted a small amount of steam that would not be enough to provide a proper cover. There were no doors or new rooms to run to down here.

Boots ran towards them, only a hall or two away. Shouts accompanied them, someone ordering to check that a door was still latched and locked. They had reached the roof access already. Dread clawed at the Doctor as the other end of the corridor filled with the sounds of similar running boots. Somewhere in the depths of his mind that was not focusing completely on the task at hand he felt bad for Rose as he dragged her forward once more. She tripped over her own feet as she fought to keep up. The Doctor hurled the rest of the way down the corridor, hoping to beat the men to the junction branching off from where they were, but froze as a shadow appeared on the threshold. A line of men appeared, holding up their stun-guns, all aimed at The Doctor and Rose. The Doctor slid to a stop before bounding the other way, only to realize the other end of the corridor had already been sealed off by the rendezvous team. Rose stumbled from the sudden change in direction and plowed into the Doctor's side as he froze.

Breathing hard, the two prisoners faced the impenetrable line of armed guards. They were cornered, trapped like rats, backed up against the hot pipes that fed the outpost. Rose hissed as her back lightly pressed against the searing metal of the ducts. "What do we do?" She murmured quietly to the Doctor, her eyes flitting between each of the new arrivals.

The Doctor's eyes darted around the small space, searching for a break in the ranks. When he saw none he glanced down and gave Rose a pain, apologetic smile as he raised his hands in the air, admitting defeat. With a sigh Rose copied him, staring at the ground now instead of the approaching figures.

She unfortunately looked up in time to see Rat-Face pull out of the herd, stalking towards them with a sickeningly arrogant smile. She instantly shifted closer to the Doctor, whimpering as she looked into the face of the man who had so viciously assaulted her so recently before her vision fell to the ground.

The Doctor, however, heard her soft choke and felt his blood instantly boil. Before he knew what he was doing, his body was launching itself across the short expanse towards the rodent, a feral, animalistic growl emanating from somewhere deep within that evolution had not managed to erase entirely. The Doctor didn't even feel like himself anymore, a new animal having taken over. He wanted to tear and break and peel and –

_BANG!_

"AHG!" The Doctor howled as a Volt Bite tore into his skin, sending him flying backwards into the steaming pipes from the close distance of the shot. The electricity ripped through him viciously. He heard Rose shout his name. He peeled one eye open through the surging pain to see that a man had grabbed her from behind, hauling her away from him as the guard tugged her arms behind her back. She squirmed and kicked, fighting, but the Doctor saw the terrified look on her face, thinking it was all about to happen again. "N-n-no." He slurred through the pain, trying to force himself up before another rush of hellish energy struck him. "Don' – t-touch 'er…" His vision flashed black and then white and then normal. The current was holding on for too long.

As suddenly as it happened, the pain stopped. The Doctor felt himself sag instantly, his muscled painfully relaxing after being seized and cramped and abused so roughly. He could hardly even protest to the pair of strong hands dragging him upright, pulling his arms behind his back and clamping them securely into a pair of cuffs. His sight was still flashing and blurring annoyingly, but through the haze he saw the smirking smile or Rat-Face leering down at him. The adrenaline brought on by hatred cut straight through his foggy mind.

"Did you really not learn anything from our last lesson?" The rodent taunted. "Do I have to teach you  _again_  who's in charge here?"

"Sir, the captain says to bring them straight up to the launch pad." One of the guards interrupted. Rat-Face glared him down before begrudgingly nodding.

"Gag them." He instructed to the men. "I don't want them spreading anymore of their lies." The Doctor fought against the hands holding him down and forcing a piece of rough fabric between his teeth and over his mouth as Rat-Face moved closer to Rose, who was going through similar treatment. The human girl froze in fear as he crouched down in front of her, her brown eyes wide as she tried unsuccessfully to put as much distance between him and herself as possible. Rat-Face just pressed a disgusting finger to her muzzled lips as she trembled, making a menacing hushing sound. "Hush now. Worthless whores don't get to speak, remember?" He whispered in her ear as a tear streaked down her cheek.

The Doctor yelled through the muzzle, his words muffled and indistinct, twisting to escape the hands on his shoulders. The guards dragged him back to his feet.

"Too bad I don't have time to reteach that lesson." Rat-Face goaded as he turned back to the Doctor. "It would have been my pleasure. But unfortunately we're out of time." He jerked his head to indicate for the men to follow him. The Doctor was shoved forward as Rat-Face called back over his shoulder. "Come along. Your new masters await you."


	15. Chapter 15

Captain Ren fought to control his desire to start pacing. He kept his hands busy by shuffling papers around to keep from wringing them with worry ever since he got the news that his last chance to get back home had been spotted sprinting through the base down in corridor ten. The moment the word 'prisoners' escaped through the radio he switched off the volume, knowing what it would say before it was said. He didn't want the collectors to know there had been an escape attempt. The less they knew, the more careless they would be, the higher the chance was that the Doctor would be able to figure something out.

Because even in the small amount of time the two had actually spent together, Ren could tell he was a more intelligent being, bathed in knowledge and power and sharper than most races in the universe. Far sharper, Ren knew, than humans, and therefore light-years ahead of these brutes who relied on strength and fear to run their disgusting empire built on the backs of slaves and murders justified by a corrupt society. It had been his eyes, actually – the black glint the hid in the corner that spoke of past destruction and loss that had clearly kindled into wisdom. Ren had seen it spark up three times, and only for a fraction of a second each. When they had first brought the two in and Rose was taken from him. When he'd found out about the sale of his freedom to Eyal. And so recently down in those cells. It had been both terrifying and mesmerizing all at the same time.

The collectors discussed among themselves a few matters Ren had no part or interest in. His involvement was more or less done. He had greeted the four, brought them into his office, offered them a drink, and played the host. Then they got straight down to business. They discussed numbers. Lots and lots of numbers. If Eyal was anything, it was surprisingly profitable, considering in most parts of the universe slavery is heavily forbidden and frowned upon. Ren knew that the higher the number he could convince them to settle with the happier his men would be. And a happy team makes for a less likelihood that they would turn on him. He was constantly paranoid on that matter.

He then explained the situation to the collectors. They listened intently, jotting down bits of information they might find helpful in figuring out where best their new recruits could go. That, for the most part, was the secret to Eyal's success; their intricate categorization and training system guaranteed the buyer walks away with exactly what they want…and a considerably lighter purse. He told them every detail he could think of, from where they were found to the way they interacted with each other.

He only lied about one thing.

"And what species did you say they were?" The cold female collector asked. Her orange eyes were so pale they almost looked milky with death.

Ren didn't allow himself to hesitate. "Both human. From Earth. None of us can figure out how they got out this far in space, and they're not talking."

The collector shrugged. "It hardly matters anymore. The fact is that they  _are_ here." She paused and flipped through her notes for a moment, frowning slightly. "It says here that in the initial report that the female had been identified as human, but the male could not be classified by your system."

Ren shifted slightly where he leaned against his desk. How much had Crvas told them? "Yes, there was a small glitch in our recognition software, but we got the technicians on it and sorted the problem out quickly. We redid the scan and the results identified him as a child of Earth." He silently congratulated himself as the collector simply nodded her head and wrote it down.

All five heads in the room spun around as noise could be heard down the hallway. Numerous pairs of feet pounded against the metal flooring. "Looks like your new stock just arrived gentlemen." He gave a little mocking bow to the woman as he moved towards the door. "And ma'am."

There was a double tap on the door and Ren pulled it open, revealing four members of the captain's team escorting the two prisoners. He breathed an inaudible sigh of relief that they had had enough sense to leave behind the small army they certainly must have used to recapture them. Rat-Face – Ren certainly liked the nickname the Doctor had come up with, it was far more suiting than the one the dirty freak's mother had given him – was certainly one to flash the strength on his side.

 _Speak of the Devil…_ Ren thought as Rat-Face entered at the front of the group. He could barely conceal the smug twist of his pointy face. The Doctor was ushered in behind him, bound and gagged unnecessarily and glaring with twelve different levels of hatred at the back of Rat-Face's head. For a brief moment the Doctor and Ren made eye contact but immediately they both looked away, not wanting to draw attention to their familiarity.

Rose was shoved through after him and positioned at the Doctor's side so the collectors could see them both. Ren noticed a small dot of liquid clinging to her long eyelashes, desperately trying not to fall down her face. But her features didn't give away the tiny tear; she stared boldly ahead, not meeting anyone's eyes, but held her chin level and was clearly clenching her jaw with discomfort for the whole situation. Rat-Face moved to stand by her, hands clasped behind his back as he swayed proudly onto the balls of his feet and then back down, and Rose inched slightly closer to the Doctor's side. The Doctor gave Rat-Face another piercing glower before moving his attention to the newest faces in the room.

The collectors had gathered in front of them, looking the two prisoners up and down like buyers at a horse fair. The Doctor half expected them to check his snout and lift up his legs to examine his hooves and measure the hands between his withers and chest. One of the collectors, a bald man with ridges similar to those on his nose, only larger, decorating his hairless head, stepped up to the Doctor, acknowledging his height, before walking around him with a critical stare.

"Well this slim thing certainly isn't going to make it into the physical labor program. Looks like a gust of wind could topple it over." The Doctor rolled his eyes at being referred to as an 'it' and wished the gag was gone so he could express his dissatisfaction out loud and with many long, convoluted sentences they probably wouldn't be able to follow. The man poked him in the side with a writing instrument and the Doctor squirmed. It tickled. And was definitely an unwelcome breach of his personal bubble. "It's pretty though. Could fit into the pleasure program quite easily." Yes, the Doctor definitely wanted the gag removed. He chomped on the fabric, holding back his retort.

The woman, who was busy scribbling something on her note pad, didn't look up as she replied, "That's for the Keepers to confirm. Our job is just transport."

"This one will fit into your pleasure program, I can promise you that." Rat-Face added oily as he nudged Rose's shoulder with his elbow and licked his upper lip. The Doctor had to breathe deeply in through his nose to keep his head as Rose practically jumped into his bound arms, trying to put more distance between her and the man now leering at her with a dark smile.

The bald collector's eyes snapped up to Rat-Face. He did not look amused at all. "We don't like out stock damaged, Corporal. What good is it to us if it's broken?"

Rat-Face looked as though he'd just been slapped. He took a step backwards and bowed his head, red tinting the edges of his face as he murmured an apology. The Doctor smiled behind the muzzle as a quiet laugh bubbled up in the back of his throat. The 'Corporal' obviously deserved worse than a telling off, but his embarrassment would just have to be good enough for now.

The woman tore off the piece of paper she'd been writing on and handed it stiffly to Ren, who, after a split second's hesitation, took it from her and read it over. "They seem to be in fine health, if not a little worn from your conditions. Here is our offer for them both."

Ren's eyebrows shot up as he read the number. Even though he felt sick accepting money from this kind of exchange, there were quite a lot of numbers on that piece of paper. Certainly enough to satisfy his men into ignorance again. "We graciously accept." His eyes flitted guiltily over to the Doctor, who stared back at him evenly with a look that plainly said  _don't worry about us. Keep yourself alive._ Ren suppressed a nod as he was once again caught beneath the stare of those impossible eyes.

"Were they acquired together?"

The woman's questions snapped Ren out of his daze. "Yes. Yes, they were. And they are amazingly close to each other. Attached, even."

"Mates." The woman groaned in annoyance. "Always tricky ones to break in." She nodded to a few of Ren's men guarding the Doctor and Rose. "Help them bring the two up to the shuttle." The men quickly obliged to the order, grabbing the Doctor by the elbow and dragging him out the door, closely followed by Rose who was being led by one of the collectors.

Rat-Face waited as everyone filed out of the room, still slightly humiliated and pink in the face. Captain Ren was the last to leave before him. He raised his eyes just in time to see Ren glare at his wholeheartedly before stomping out of the office. Rat-Face followed a few safe steps behind.

Rose and the Doctor were led along a few of the painfully monotonous halls before being led up three flights of stairs.  _Where were these seventeen minutes again?_ The Doctor asked himself as he pouted at how unfair the whole situation had become. The stairs led out onto the rooftop that was accessorized with a gigantic landing pad that took up much of the roof space on this side of the complex. The Doctor looked down over the other side into the courtyard at all the Drephesh who looked humorously small as they scurried about performing their amoral duties.

But then rather quickly his attention was drawn to the rather large ship parked at the center of the landing pad. He had been right before; it was a pirated  _Skyfarer Mark IV_ reequipped with downwards propulsion pads to make for helicopter-type maneuverability as well as a reinforced docking and loading bay for the cargo space. The Doctor thought he knew what this ship carried as cargo.

They were moved closer to the loading bay as the ramp began to lower. The mechanics of the ship groaned as the metal moved and landed with a dull  _THUD_ on the metal roof.

The Doctor's eyes widened at the sight they were greeted with. Eleven others were already in the cargo bay, strapped down to benches that lined the walls and ran up the center of the hull. The place was clearly designed to hold more, but at the time the current residents were spread out along the benches. None of them seemed completely with it as they more or less ignored the new activity in the hull. Some of them even appeared to be asleep. Drugged, the Doctor concluded. Fantastic, they had that to look forward to now, too.

They were brought into the hull by the outpost guards, but one of the collectors ordered them to stop. "Unbind them and remove the gags." One of them commanded. "We prefer to restrain them our way." The guards muttered 'yes, sir's as they complied. The Doctor's wrists were unlocked and he quickly pulled the gag off over his head. His hair moved upwards with the movement and stayed there.

"Oh, that's better." He rotated his jaw, sore from holding onto the thick fabric for so long, and heard the joints click. He didn't have much time to enjoy his release though as he was practically dragged across the hull and thrown onto one of the benches. The armrests between the seats apparently weren't armrests at all as thick bands of metal lined with soft leather on the inside jumped up and immediately clamped around his wrists. Something similar happened to his ankles simultaneously. He pulled on the restrains, testing them, before concluding that they were, unfortunately, very strong and definitely inescapable without a bit of outside help.

Rose was treated similarly, tossed down onto the seat next to the Doctor. She glanced at him worriedly as the restraints pinned her to the seat. "Don't worry," The Doctor tried to smile. "Intergalactic seatbelts. They wouldn't want us falling all around during the travel."

"Well what's wrong with the original earth design for seatbelts?" Rose muttered as she, too, tugged on the manacles. "You know, the kind that allowed you to move more than one inch in every direction?"

The Doctor glanced up at the collectors. They were still talking to the guards. Ren and – the Doctor held back a snarl – Rat-Face had also appeared on the launch pad, listening to what the collectors were saying.

The Doctor glanced around at their fellow hull-mates, note the range of different species' and their varying levels of awareness. How soon would they, too, be drugged? And when they awoke, what would happen next? Would they still be together?

The Doctor didn't want to take the chance that they will be. In all likeliness he and Rose will be separated as soon as they reach the facility, sent off to different programs or whatever it was they did. When the Doctor had encountered Eyal before it hadn't been in the slave trafficking department and therefore he had little knowledge of what to expect, although he did know some sort of grading system was involved…

Tearing his eyes away from their new 'masters' as Rat-Face had put it, the Doctor looked intently at Rose.

"Rose, listen to me." Rose turned to look at him, seeing the determination and – was that a hint of fear – within his eyes. "After this flight…" He paused, choking slightly. "We – we might not see each other for a while."

Rose started to shake her head. "Doctor, what are you talking about?"

"Just listen." The collectors were finishing whatever they were saying. Something was being handed to Ren that Rat-Face kept his eyes on greedily. "When we get there, I want you to do whatever they tell you to, okay? They're slavers, but they're not cruel. This is a business for them and it's bad for business if their product is damaged. But they expect obedience and won't allow dissent. Do you understand what I'm saying? Don't let them hurt you if they don't have to. Don't give them an excuse. Just cooperate and be okay. I –" The Doctor cut himself off, swallowing heavily. Rose was watching him, that adorable little wrinkle just above her nose as she furrowed her eyebrows. He could stare at the wrinkle for hours. Days.

But they didn't have days. They didn't even have minutes. The hull was closing up and the collectors were making their way inside. The last view of the sun-burned, desert planet that was still holding the TARDIS 'prisoner' became just a slit of light before the loading ram slammed shut and was secured through a number of mechanical hisses, clicks, and clunks.

The collectors moved over to what appeared to be a large industrial refrigerator situated at the back of the hull. They rummaged through it, ignoring their newest captures as well as the older ones. The Doctor spun back to face Rose.

"I'm going to get us out." He promised. But the despondency barely concealed in his voice gave him away. He had no idea how. For once, the great and mighty Doctor couldn't figure out a solution. But Rose didn't address it. She just stretched out her fingers as far as she could, straining towards the Doctor's hand. The Doctor did the same, and they just barely managed to brush finger tips.

"I know you will." Rose reassured him with a small smile.

Outside on the rooftop, Ren watched as the ramp into the hull gradually moved up before locking into place. He heard the buzz of the oxygen scene turning back on along the surface of the ship, holding in the recycled air as it prepared for takeoff. He waited until he was sure the collectors and the rest of the employees of Eyal were no longer watching them, and then he whipped around to face that raping coward. He grabbed Rat-Face by the lapel of his shirt and swung him around, slamming his back into the unyielding metal wall. A few of the other guards turned to watch, shouting in surprise as their captain so suddenly attacked one of their own before quickly ignoring the situation.

Rat-Face gasped for air as it was driven from his lungs by the force of the collision. He coughed and Ren cringed as the foul smell reaches his nose. He pushed the unpleasantness aside and forced his face with inches of the freak's pointy, greasy nose, glaring at him with all the intimidation he could muster. "I told you I don't like people touching my things." He growled.

To his surprise Rat-Face started to laugh. "She's not one of your  _things_ anymore, Captain." He replied cheekily.

Ren drove the back of his hand viciously across his face. He stumbled, head snapping to the side from the intensity of the hit. A hand-shaped bruise was already beginning to form.

Ren got right up in his face again, pinning his against the wall with his anger and his body. Through barred teeth he managed to snarl, "You will keep a civil tongue in that mouth of yours while you're talking to me or I will cut it out for you. And if you ever disregard one of my direct orders again you'll be begging me for something as merciful as just cutting out your tongue, do I make myself clear?"

Rat-Face nodded minutely, loathing shinning from his eyes. Ren released his hold on him and started to stride back inside. The rest of the guards had already left. Therefore no one saw the look of utter loathing Rat-Face made towards his retreating back. A look of loathing and a dark, dangerous promise or payback for his humiliation.

* * *

Curiosity spiking, the Doctor reached out with his ears to hear what the collectors were discussing so intently over by the refrigerator. Couldn't possibly just be water-cooler talk amongst co-workers.

The ship had taken off just a moment ago, launching loudly and roughly into the sky. The Doctor was actually happy they were strapped in so securely; a few of the collectors over there had nearly fallen over with the abrupt take-off, sending a few curses towards the pilots as they quickly tried to right themselves.

After that he heard one of them ask, "What species did you say they were?"

"Human. At least that's what the captain told us they identified as, and they match all the appearance and behavioral traits of humans."

"Okay, so in that case, prepare one dose of the Roznesthylicprofen each. That should hold them over till we get back to Eyal."

Roznesthylicprofen.  _Roznesthylicprofen_. Where had he heard that before? He had definitely heard of that before. Or at least…elements that made up that word. It was –  _Come on, Doctor, think!_  – a drug! The Doctor's hearts practically stopped. Dread raced through him.  _No, no, no, no, no…_ He knew exactly what type of drug that was. And it was completely harmless.

To a human.

But to a Time Lord…

The collectors turned back to their newest property, filling up two syringes with some clear liquid from a vial. The Doctor immediately started panicking. His hearts raced the closer they got. No. They couldn't use it. They couldn't give it to them.

He struggled against the restrains, trying to kick out of the ones around his ankles, tear out the manacles around his wrists. A female collector was standing over him now, needle ready. "No! Wait! Stop! You can't!" The Doctor tried to warn them. They didn't seem to be listening.

"Stay still." One of them commanded sternly. She placed a hand on his chest to steady him, pinning him back against the wall of the hull as he tried to thrash away. The needle was inches from the skin on his arm. So close to his blood supply.

"Please, stop. The drug – you can't. It'll kill me!" They seemed to think he was just trying to get out of it, for they quickly jammed the needle into his skin, ejecting the liquid into his bloodstream with an annoyed sigh. The Doctor cursed in Gallifreyan as his elevated hearts-rate carried the drug further into his system.

Rose, having seen his reaction, started to panic herself. Anything that was enough to send the Doctor over the edge –  _he had been_ begging _!_ – was enough to terrify his companion. She didn't realize the drug would be perfectly harmless and that all it would do is send her into a pleasant deep sleep until they arrived at their destination. And the aspirin mixed into the formula would certainly sooth any of her pain.

The needle slid into her skin as the collectors were quick to administer it, fearing she would become hysterical as well. She didn't even have time to flinch as the Roznesthylicprofen was flushed into her system.

The Doctor flinched though. He felt the drug flowing through his body, staining every cell. It was like a poison. It was a poison. He gasped as the room began to pulse as if it had its own heart beat. Like the speakers on a stereo turned up too loud. In fact even the sounds were amplified. He could hear his own frantic hearts pounding against his chest, trying to get out and escape the poison in his veins. Rose was whispering his name desperately, but it sounded like a scream. Lights flashed, unnaturally bright, the colors distorting. His head swam. He felt dizzy. Nauseous. The world tilted around him. His skin was too hot. His skin was too cold. He couldn't tell. He was sweating. Or was he bleeding? Red dripped into his eyes. The room was stained with it. And then it was gone. And then it was there. His breathing became raspy. Air wasn't reaching his lungs. His throat had constricted. He gasped desperately. Nothing was coming.

Rose shouted his name again. It fell too heavy on his ears. He cringed away. Impossibly loud footsteps approached. "WHAT IS IT DOING?" The unfamiliar voice roared, but somewhere deep inside the last remaining rational part of his mind told him is was just spoken.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?" The voice of Rose demanded. The Doctor wanted to clutch his head. It was too much. It was too much. He was shaking. Convulsing. He wanted to ask her to be quiet. Why was everyone so loud? Where were they all? Who were they? What is a Rose?

He opened his mouth to ask all these questions, but the only thing that came out was vomit. Disgusting, burning, acidic bile stung the back of his throat and over his tongue. He seized. His entire body trembled. Was he still vomiting? Why was he vomiting on the ceiling? How were they all standing up-side-down?

His right heart gave up.  _No._  the poison burst through his veins. It seared. It burned. And the Doctor laughed. He laughed. How silly this pain was. And then he cried. He felt hands on him, dragging him out of wherever he was sitting, laying him on the ground. He cried and trembled, grasping at the hands, trying to hold on, to pin himself to reality. He was spinning too fast. Someone was shouting his name, but their voice was getting distant. So very, very far away.

His left heart pounded in his ears. Boom…

….Boom.

Too slow. It was getting slower. It was going out.

The Doctor slid his eyes shut to turn off the spinning. Turn off the lights. Turn off the demons standing over him, touching him. Turn off the questions and the shouting.

And then everything,  _everything,_  turned off.


	16. Chapter 16

The scent of hospital was the first thing he became aware of. It stung his nose with an unpleasant familiarity. He had never liked hospitals, despite what his chosen name might have suggested. They rarely ever had a little shop.

He wasn't exactly warm, and what he was lying on wasn't exactly comfortable, but he was warmer and more comfortable than he'd been the last few days. And he felt good, too. Fantastic even. He curled his toes and twitched a few of his fingers, smiling at how easily and painlessly they responded to the demand. Yes, the healing coma must have done wonders on whatever had afflicted him because now he felt absolutely fantastic.

He prepared himself to slip back into unconsciousness, to take advantage of just a little more sleep, but it seemed the world outside his little bubble of warmth had a different idea. He heard footsteps, quick and clipped, like the owner of the feet was wearing a small heel. He felt a hand touch his chest lightly, heard papers rustling and the  _beep_ of a machine reading out its results. The Doctor decided it was all inconsequential and went to flip off his hearing so he could fall back asleep.

But when the finger tried to lift up his eyelid to see the orb below, the Doctor flinched away. "Do you mind?" He groaned indignantly, his voice still heavy with sleep and rough from lack of use. His internal clock was about as disoriented as the Doctor felt, so he had no idea how long he'd really been out. But he kept his eyes shut, hoping to fall back into oblivion soon despite the disturbance.

"Doctor, 305 is awake now." An unfamiliar female voice announced.

The first thing that flashed across the Doctor's mind was  _who is three-oh-five and why do I care if they're awake?_ He had been enjoying his sleep and wished just to return to it. But now his senses demanded he stay awake and alert. The smell of antiseptic still burned around him. He could hear the steady beeps of a heart monitor recording his double-beat hearts. All these elements spiked his ever-present curiosity. He was in an infirmary…but when did he get here? The last thing he remembered was boarding a ship headed for –

His eyes popped open, squinting against the sudden brightness that attacked his corneas. Yes, definitely a hospital, judging from the searing artificial lights set high into the white ceiling.

"About time." Another voice, male this time, entered the Doctor's world. "It certainly waited till the last second, didn't it. We were going to pull the plug on it tomorrow."

The Doctor's eyes darted in the direction of the voice as a man entered his limited line of sight. The man was clearly Drephesh, his orange eyes shinning under the glare of the hospital lights, his tan skin dulled slightly from what the Doctor assumed was years of working indoors. He wore a white coat and gloves and the Doctor quickly realized that  _he_ was the 'Doctor' referred to before. And that would make the Time Lord '305'…

The medic came up to stand beside the nurse at the Doctor's bedside. The medic paid him no heed as he quickly took up a chart and began reading through it, glancing at one of the machines before finally looking down at the Doctor as if he were simply an interesting specimen beneath a microscope.

"Fascinating." The medic commented. "It's healing element is quite incredible. By all reckoning there should be some severe permanent damage to its organs and functions, but they all appear to be fine." He flipped through the papers again, glowing with intrigue. "What are you, you mysterious thing?" He mused quietly.

"I'm right here, that's what I am." The Doctor chimed in, somewhat annoyed already. "So do you think you could stop talking about me as if I'm not?"

The medic glanced down as if surprised that the creature on the bed had spoken. He raised his eyebrows as he leaned over his patient. "Can you understand what I'm saying?" He said slowly and clearly.

The Doctor's eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the medic's condescending tone. "Yes, of course I can understand what you're saying. Now do you mind telling me what's going on? And seriously," He squirmed as the nurse bent down and started poking and prodding his right arm around a small spot which was strangely sore and bruised. She then began to move down his body, checking his pulse and his chest and then his stomach. "This is a pretty severe breach in personal space without any explanation, I think."

The nurse continued to move down his body and the Doctor tried to shift out of her reach, swat her hand away as it began to move towards an uncomfortably personal area. That was when he noticed the thick leather straps on his wrists, holding them down against the edges of the bed. Panic started to weed its way into his system. The last time he'd been tied down something bad had happened. Something that clearly cause him to wind up in an infirmary. He couldn't remember what, though – it danced on the edge of his cloudy memory – and he didn't like it one bit. Why was he being strapped down?

The medic didn't seem to notice his discomfort. He turned to another nurse hovering in the background with a handheld computer. "Good," The medic commented. "Ms. Lyhol, please note that 305 can skip the language training. It seems perfectly capable of communicating." The nurse quickly began typing, responding with a "Yes, Dr. Vadim."

"Great," The Doctor said sarcastically. "Now do you mind  _communicating_  why you have me strapped down?"

Dr. Vadim turned his attention back to the bed. "You were very disturbed when you were first brought in and suffered a few seizures. The straps were applied to keep you from injuring yourself inadvertently and have remained since we had no way of knowing your manner and previous training."

The Doctor's eyebrows shot up. "Previous training...?" He mused in a quiet voice. "I haven't –"

Then suddenly the event on the shuttle came crashing back to him. He remembered hearing the collectors mention the drug, an altered mixture of various human medications that should have been completely harmless had he not been lying about being human. He remembered the pain, the immediate delusional state he'd fallen into. He remembered the way he felt his right heart go out. The way he could feel his left heart slowly giving up as well. He should be dead. And not just regenerative dead; dead dead. Stone-cold, rigor mortis type dead. But he wasn't.

"H-how –" Was the only thing he managed to say as he looked down at his hands, half expecting to see them either glowing gold with imminent regeneration or gray and decaying with dead stringy skin.

"You had an allergic reaction to the drug administered to you during transportation that was meant to cancel out the effects of Space Sickness. A pretty severe allergic reaction, I might add, considering there was a very small amount of acetylsalicylic acid in the injection. You went into dual cardiac arrest upon landing and came very close to the end. We just barely managed to pull you back with a combination of portaquin and trancosis, which canceled out the effects of your aversion to acetylsalicylic acid, thanks to the knowledge your mate provided us with."

"My mate?"

Dr. Vadim nodded. "Yes, the female you were brought in with."

The Doctor frowned. Who had he been with? His memories burned as he tried to smoke out the grogginess of his mind. Why couldn't he remember? He had been with someone extremely important, someone he cared for very, very much and was subconsciously crippled with guilt over…

And then everything,  _everything,_ came slamming back. Being chased down the hillside by Drepheshie natives. Being captured by the men of the outpost and being tortured by the sun. That man, that  _rodent_ , leering at him as he touched…as he hurt…as he defiled…

"ROSE!" He immediately tried to sit up, tearing against the restraints holding him down. His right wrist felt incredibly sore as it pressed against the leather. He didn't feel it though. "Where is she? What happened?"

He continued to struggle and pull against the cuffs as Dr. Vadim stared down at him, eyebrows raised and interested. After a second he calmly turned to one of the nurses. "Give it two mgs of Isoscicosine. Calm it down for now." He ordered in a calm, demanding voice. The nurses quickly complied, one slamming the Doctor's shoulders back into the pillow with surprising force and holding him down as the other swiftly inserted another needle into his neck. The Doctor allowed himself to be held down, his adrenaline rush quickly fading away. But the nurse had already injected the new drug. The Doctor shivered with minute fear as he flashed back to what happened the last time he'd been drugged by these people, but not long after that thought he felt it vanish. Every thought was vanishing now. The world was darkening around the edges and Dr. Vadim leaned forward to peer closer into the Doctor's slowly closing eyes.

* * *

Vadim and the nurses stood back as they watched a sluggish, sleepy smile spread across the creatures face. Its eyes were half closed as the drug quickly began to seep into its system. Its hearts-rate slowed, the heart monitor recording the steady decrease in pace, as the creature began to breathe deep and languidly. It relaxed into the thin pillow and emitted a small bubble of a laugh. "Where's Rose?" It asked again, but this time its voice was light and 'happy'. "Where is she? I need – I need to tell her a joke." It began giggling to itself and Vadim and the nurses shared a quick, confused, and slightly amused glance.

"It certainly reacts quickly to the drugs."

Vadim sighed. "That would be due to it's amazing binary vascular system. The two hearts working together help carry the blood through the body more efficiently than our singular heart system. I'm willing to gamble this year's salary to say he has incredible wells of energy that can run on very little for a very long time. Quite impressive."

He leaned over the creature once more, staring at the slightly giggly thing with intense intellectual hunger. This creature had a remarkable physiology from what he had seen so far from the tests they had done. He had never seen anything quite like it. "But I can tell you one thing." He added as he finally turned away from the being on the medical bed.

"What's that, doctor?" One of the nurses replied obediently.

"Whatever it is, it certainly isn't human." He smiled slightly at the mystery as he took up the patient's chart. "Shall we continue with the tests?"

"Yes, doctor." The nurse who had been holding the doctor down scurried off to gather more supplies.

"Have we received the report of its species from Headquarters yet?" The doctor inquired.

"No, sir, Headquarters says they still can't classify it and are subcontracting the project to Galactic Command now, expediting our results to their larger archives."

Vadim gave another disappointed groan. "And knowing them it will be another month before they even get around to that report. Looks like we'll have to wait till you're attentive once again to find out what you are, 305." He spoke to the creature, who now seemed to be mumbling something in a foreign language with a goofy smile on its face. "In the meantime, this one will be fine. You can take it back to it's cage once it's aware again and alert the Keeper of its status."

"Yes, doctor." Another nurse said as she hurried off to do her job, but suddenly the creature started giggling again.

"Doctor?" It said through it's hiccupped laughs. It chuckled again and Dr. Vadim had to lean down to distinguish it's next words, thinking it was calling for him. But instead all he heard was, "Ehehe, that's my name, too." Before it giggled itself into a drug induced sleep.

* * *

The Eyal Facility had a fantastic public image; visitors and customers were led through well-kept hallways lined with large, bright cells where the slaves up for sale lounged casually back against mattressed bunks. They were shown the medical facility with all its impressive machines and flowing supplies that would help tend to the sick laying in the comfortable white medical beds – but, of course, no one was ever sick when the inspections happened. They were even taken out to the small yet surprisingly spacious outdoor recreation area where slaves were allowed to exercise and socialize in order to increase health and moral among the stock.

However, once you pass the 'Employees Only' signs…

The Doctor was led down a narrow hallway filled with small, cramped cages. Aliens of all sorts peered out at them, flinching away from the employees who led him down the line. There were so many of them, and from so many different races and planets. Felspoon, Hermethica, Messaline, Catrigan Nova, Barcelona, Apalapucia, and even one of two, the Doctor saw, from Raxacoricofallapatorius. And so many more. They all cowered towards the back of their cages as the Doctor and his ushers moved passed. The Doctor looked around in horror at the state of neglect these poor aliens had been left in.

He had woken back up in the same room as before, still strapped to the bed, just an hour or so after being drugged into that near state of hilarity. This time when he woke, he had no sleepy delusions of where he was or what had happened. He remembered everything from the last week with painful clarity, and he could now take in the medical room lucidly. It may have been an infirmary, but the room was too cold and dark everywhere else but around the bed, and the quality of the instruments and machines were laughable at best. The place was not designed with the comfort or reassurance for its patients in mind.

Not long after waking up he heard that they had already taken blood samples, tissue samples, xrays, scans, both MRI and CAT, along with various other tests regarding his physiology and health. Then two guards appeared in the infirmary and began unstrapping the Doctor from the table, but didn't give him a chance to stand on his own as they instantly dragged him to his feet and shoved him out the door and down various hallways.

After about a week of unconsciousness – the Doctor's chronometer had finally kicked back into gear and alerted him of the length of his healing coma – it was a bit hard to find supportive footing at first, and the guards were completely unhelpful as they just shoved him between the shoulder blades to keep him moving forward. They didn't say a word to him and whenever he went to open his mouth or utter a sound they were quick to silence him with a swift kick or punch. After the first few times, the Doctor figured out it was probably within his best interest to keep quiet.

The guards promptly pulled the Doctor to a halt, unlocked one of the empty cages, and practically threw him inside. The grated ground proved uneven as the Doctor tripped from the force of their push, and he collapsed to his knees on the ground, hands flying out to stop the fall. There was sniggering behind him as the guards turned and left the 'slave' in his new home, slamming the cage door shut behind him.

After recovering from the fall the Doctor took in his new room, but found there wasn't anything to really see. The cell was little better than a dog kennel, barely tall enough for him to stand in with hunched shoulders, but no where near tall enough for him to stand at full height. It was shallow, only about four feet deep, so it would be impossible to lie down fully. And the thick metal wiring that criss-crossed the space between cages did not look comfortable to lean against at all. There was no bunk, no mattress, no toilet, no light. Nothing.

The truth was, that well-kept hallway was the only cellblock with large, bright cells for its inmates, who were slaves Eyal bought themselves to play the roles of content, healthy items, as well as to sometimes keep the guards entertained and happy. That infirmary was for the sick or injured employees and was mostly kept empty while the sick slaves were either taken to the room the Doctor had just left or were taken to the back to be put down, depending on the severity of their illness or injury. To be honest, the Doctor was amazed they had kept him around for as long as they did without ending him. Nothing about Eyal was as it seemed.

The Doctor leaned his head back against the wiring of his cage, having chosen to just sit down in one of the corners rather than try standing. He peered through the thick mesh and saw an alien in the cell next to him; a young looking girl with raven-black hair and flawless dark red skin the color of summer wine, spoil by a greenish-purple bruise forming around her right eye. She watched the Doctor worriedly from where she sat curled up against the back of her own cage, arms wrapped protectively around herself. The Doctor smiled kindly. "Hello." He said, hoping to get a response from the girl, but she just shook her head, eyes widening with fear. The Doctor frowned. "What is –"

The flooring of his cage suddenly became active as a sharp shock was sent up into his body. He hissed, jumping up as the pain hit him by surprise and accidentally rammed the top of his head into the ceiling of his cage. There was more laughing outside, accompanied by the harshly spat order, "NO talking, slave!"

The Doctor folded himself back down, glaring at nothing in particular, before turning back to the girl. She was still watching him intently with her big black eyes. The Doctor shrugged with one shoulder and mouthed  _hello_  to her instead. A flicker of a smile passed over her face before she tucked her head back into the crook of her arms, disappearing from this cruel world.

After a moment the Doctor crawled towards the front of his cage, grasping the wire as he tried to get a good look into the other pens around him. There was a Slitheen across the way, starved and battered, a Hath to it's right and a Korvan who looked rather worse for wear to the left. The Doctor pressed his face against the mesh, trying to see further down the isles. He saw so many different shapes and forms and colors all huddled alone and scare in their own little kennels.

But none of them, as far as he could see (which wasn't very far), had the soft pink flesh and yellow hair of the one he was searching for.

**TBC**


	17. Chapter 17

As the night wore on, the Doctor thought this was the worst torture he had endured in a long, long time. Boredom and worry intermixed in his mind like a horrible poison, making him fidgety and anxious, which had no place in this cramped, tiny cage. The rest of the cellblock had long since fallen asleep – the red-skinned girl in the cage next door having rolled onto her side, never releasing her position with her knees drawn to her chest. The sounds of unquiet slumber permeated the air in the cellblock as many fought off fear and nightmares and undoubtedly the clawing fingers of starvation.

The Doctor, however, had no intention or ability to sleep. He had been asleep for a whole week and his body was ready for another bout of excitement and adventure. The cell was too small to pace in, and he was left with nothing to fiddle around with besides his own fingers and that one loose tassel of thread hanging off the sleeve of the large grey tee-shirt he'd been given to wear, along with a pair of similar colored track pants.

At first, when everything had quieted down and the night guards were no where to be seen, the Doctor crawled up to the front of his cage again and examined the latch on his cell. It was actually quite a simple pin tumbler lock, easy to pick with the right materials, and the distance between the meshing on his cage allowed for a few fingers to make it though the gap. However, the Doctor soon found out in a very painful manner that the lock had a pressurized current running through it, so as soon as the skin on his finger brushed against the latch a sharp  _zap_  shot up his arm. The Doctor huffed in annoyance.  _Seriously, they must have a_ huge  _electric bill with all the shocking they're doing around here,_ he thought as he leaned back against the cage wall once more, absentmindedly running his fingers over the rough and sore new marks on the inside of his right wrist. The symbols  **MD196305** had been tattooed into his skin in fine print at some point during his coma, but the area was still slightly inflamed, red, and annoyingly tender. The tip of his finger passed over the  **305**  – his new name, apparently.

The hours ticked on and eventually his thoughts managed to force their way back to Rose. He had tried not thinking about her, because every time he did a piercing pang of worry and guilty threatened to cut him in half. But after so long, and with so little to do, he couldn't help the stray thoughts finger their way to the forefront of his mind.

Where was she? Was she okay? Had she listened to his advice from back on the shuttle and cooperated? Or upon landing had she immediately began to disobey? He thought about how she must have felt on that flight, watching him seizing on the floor, writhing as that teeny tiny amount of Aspirin nearly destroyed him, and then seeing his body getting carted off to who-knew where the moment the shuttle's legs hit home. It had been a week. Was she still worried about him? Did she think he was dead?

The Doctor swallowed heavily as that thought bred another, even more unwelcome question. What if she was dead? Rose. His perfect Rose. She had always been a fighter, but there was not room for stubborn rebellion in this place. Dissent was punished severely, but the penalty for open and consistent disobedience was to be put down. An unruly slave is an unprofitable slave.

The fear of that pressed against him until it brought tears to his eyes. They burned as a thin layer before his eyes and he only just managed to hold them back. Breaking down was  _not_ going to help right now. What he needed was to keep a level head.

Morning came around in an agonizingly slow manner. The Doctor heard other prisoners beginning to wake up while others slept on. The red-skinned girl woke and cautiously uncurled herself from her cramped position on the floor and moved to stand as far as she could in the corner of her own cage, black hair curtaining her down turned face. This was the first time the Doctor saw her full body and he was surprised to see that, despite how slight she was, she did not appear frail at all. Her eyes darted up for a quick second, meeting the Doctor's as he watched her, and she quickly jerked her head to the side, pointing with her eyes towards the corner of his cage.

The Doctor frowned and was about to ask her what she meant when a jarringly loud ringing suddenly blasted through the room, accompanied by another quick shock sent through the floor. From the sounds of yelps and hisses, the Doctor guessed it had happened to everyone. The wake-up call. The red-skinned girl, however, just pressed herself further into the corner, standing on bare tiptoes, and didn't even appear to have been shocked at all. She stepped away from the wall as the alarm stopped, giving the Doctor an apologetic, if not slightly patronizing, look before sliding back into her fetal position on the floor. The Doctor gapped at her routine. How long did she have to have been there in order to develop a  _routine_?

Employees stormed their way down the isle of cages and began opening up several of the doors. A guard began unlocking the Doctor's cage and the Doctor didn't even have time to react before the man grabbed him roughly by the collar of his shirt and dragged him out of the cage. The Doctor stumbled as the guard pushed him forcefully down the hallway where a bunch of other slaves were being directed. "Go! Come on! Move!" The shouts of the guards rose above the silent shuffling of the prisoners, who, the Doctor noticed, were all barefoot like him and wearing the same type of clothes. He then noticed that all the slaves pulled out of their cells were male. He looked around, just in case, for a head of long blonde hair, but was quickly cuffed on the back of the head by a passing guard who told him to "Look forward and keep moving."

The Doctor obediently followed the rest of the men down the isle, wishing he had been given shoes as the rough metal grating of the ground dug into his heels. They were led through an archway on the opposite end of the corridor that broke into a fork. The Doctor fell in with the stream heading to the right and let out an audible sigh of relief as he realized the room they'd been led into was a large bathroom, long and narrow with multiple toilets and sinks, but no mirrors or showers. The Doctor quickly did his business, washed his grimy hands, and splashed some water on his face, running his wet fingers up through his hair at the end in hopes of washing away some of the grease and dirt that had made a home there. Then he followed the others through a door on the other end of the bathroom.

This time the doors opened up into a darkly-lit cafeteria of sorts. The men lined up, shoulders hunched and eyes downcast, in front of a table holding a large cooking pot and bowls. On the other side of the room another line was forming of all women. The Doctor scanned the line quickly but saw no one distinctly human or blonde, so he picked up a bowl and moved forward to receive his breakfast. He frowned slightly as the server spooned a relatively small amount of watery, lukewarm soup with bits of what looked like Earth's potatoes into his bowl. At least it was better than the goop they'd been fed at the outpost, but it was still a pathetic amount.

"Please, sir, I want some more." The Doctor smiled charmingly as he held the bowl out towards the server once more. All he received was a non-amused glare. "No? Like Oliver Twist? Not a fan? Fine," The Doctor sighed, "I'll get out of your line, Mr. Bumble." He trudged away with his meager amount of breakfast.

The dining area was set up like any regular cafeteria; a couple long tables with benches attached to them lining the hall with 'lunch monitors', or in this case guards, standing vigilant along the sides and by the doors. The inmates all sat scattered around the room, some forming silent groups as they gravitated towards the comfort of company while others chose to isolate themselves from the rest. There was very little conversation going on between them, and the quiet was a little too much for the Doctor's personal liking.

After scanning the hall for a moment, feeling more and more like a transfer student on the first day at a new school, his eyes finally fell on one familiar face. The red-skinned girl sat by herself in the corner of one of the tables, slowly eating from her bowl. Plastering a smile to his face, the Doctor bounded over and plopped onto the bench across from her. The girl looked up, startled, black eyes wide, before she recognized him and relaxed minutely. She set her spoon down and kept her eyes skeptically on the Doctor as he scooted closer.

"Hello!" He said cheerfully. "Remember me, your next door neighbor?" The girl simply nodded, so the Doctor went on. "Clever little trick you had this morning. What's your name?"

The girl frowned and after a moment of hesitation showed him the inside of her wrist.  **FD195212** had been inked and healed into her skin. "No, no, not your number, your  _name._ " The Doctor clarified as he dove into his soup, cringing as the potato-like chunks turned to mush upon contact with his tongue.

"We don't go by names here." The girl responded quietly after cautiously glancing around. "They just call me 212."

"Well you had to have gone by a name at some point in your life. You're from the planet Shelwick, aren't you, an Aonian? Yes, of course. I've been there before. Lovely planet, but it could do without the murderous grass, in my opinion. It was quite annoying trying to have a nice, quiet picnic while fighting off the blades of living-lawn. But anyway, judging by the black speckles forming along your neckline and the way the color of your fingers have been flickering between red and white ever since I started talking, showing a developing grasp of controchrome, I'd say you're about…twenty-five years old?" The Doctor scooped up another mouthful of lukewarm broth as the girl simply stared at him, aghast. "No offence." He added quickly.

"Twenty-one." She corrected him with a slightly tart tone. "And I already have developed mature controchrome, thank you very much."

"Oh! Congratulations! Took me about a century to master that, but let's just say lack of practice has left me controchrome-less."

The girl scoffed. "I saw your chart. Human's can't develop controchrome." The Doctor just winked at her with a cheeky smile.

"So, come on, what's your name?" He asked again after a short bout of silence. The Aonian returned to her own bowl, stirring around the watery substance. "What did your parents call you, then?"

"Slaves aren't allowed to name their young. That's up to the master." She responded without looking up.

That froze the Doctor in his tracks. Her parents had been slaves. She had been born into this. But she couldn't possibly have been here, in Eyal, for twenty-one years…could she? He was almost afraid to ask, so instead opted for a less direct approach. "And what did your master call you?"

She paused for a second, as if trying to remember. "He called me…Lalay."

The Doctor smiled. "Lalay. That's a gorgeous name. You should hang onto that one."

Lalay shook her head as she spooned the last of her soup into her mouth. "I'm not Lalay anymore. I'm 212. And once my next master comes up with a name for me, I will be that. And you shouldn't call me anything else unless you want to get in even more trouble."

"You deserve to have a name, Lalay. You're a person. Not an item, not a thing they can categorize numerically."

Lalay stood up suddenly, picking up her empty bowl and spoon as she did so. "That's exactly what we are." She said stiffly before pointedly glancing down at his own upturned wrist. "And the sooner you accept that, 305, the easier you'll survive this place."

And with that she spun around, moving back towards the serving table, and deposited her bowl, leaving the Doctor sitting alone on the bench. He huffed out a frustrated, sympathetic sigh and silently prayed to Rassilon he would never start thinking like that, not matter how much pain it would put him in in the future. He would change her mind. Eventually. She had been treated like a  _thing_  her entire life, which was probably why she felt as if it were true. After a little bit of being treated like a  _person_ maybe she would finally see that that is what she deserves.

The Doctor glanced around at the rest of the quiet, worn, downhearted slaves milling around the cafeteria and wondered how many of them had lost their ability to see that as well.

He didn't have long to ponder this as he heard heavy booted footsteps coming towards him. Suddenly the sound reminded him too much of their time at the outpost and he felt himself shrink instinctively away. He went to grab another bite of his breakfast, but as the spoon was halfway to his mouth, pale, watery substance dripping over the edges, he was abruptly grabbed from behind and hauled to his feet. He gave a little shout of protest as the spoonful of soup fell and landed on his pant leg as he was pulled over the bench.

The guards spun him around and shoved him across the dining hall towards a third door. A few inmates looked up and watched with veiled interest while others pointedly kept their eyes on their meals. The Doctor barely even had time to put up an argument as they marched him through the door and into a long, white corridor on the other side. More doors lined the walls, each with a number but no names or identifications.  _Kind of like the rest of us trapped here._

"You could have at least let me finish eating." He pouted instead. "You know, breakfast  _is_ the most important meal of the day after all. I'd hate to not have enough energy to go through whatever you're bringing me towards simply due to an avoidable lack of nutrition."

He paused to see if the guards would respond. They did not. The Doctor blew a stream of air out through his nose. "Blimey, not a lot of good conversationalists in this place."

They led him about halfway down the corridor and jerked him to a halt before one of the doors. Number 16. They opened the door and threw the Time Lord inside, snapping it shut behind him. The Doctor stumbled but caught himself quickly, just in time to hear a bolt sliding into place on the door.

The room itself was actually quite nice (but then again everything was nice compared to the cage he'd spent the night in). The walls were a dark cream color while the floor was all white tiles. It was cool in here and smelt clean, but not the overwhelmingly sanitary stench of the hospital room he'd woken up in. However, there was nothing in the room. No chairs or tables or plants or pictures to occupy the Doctor's ever-present curiosity.

So instead he occupied his sudden alone time by getting down on his hands and knees and measuring the distance between each tile and counting how many tiles were in a row and how many rows there were and, therefore, how many tiles there should be in the room and how many inches exactly the room's area contained.

So engrossed he was in his calculations that he didn't hear the door unlock and open until it slammed shut with a loud  _BANG!_ He jumped at the sound, scurrying to his feet as two men entered the room. He recognized the doctor who had been in the medical room the first day, but the other man was unfamiliar. He was tall, though not quite as tall as the Doctor, with a muscular build and dark orange eyes that scrutinized the Doctor as he quickly stood awkwardly at the center of the room.

"How are you feeling, 305?" The medic asked, looking down at the chart he'd brought in with him. "Any dizziness, nausea, pain in the chest, or blackout moments?"

The Doctor shook his head as he bounced forward on the balls of his feet. "Nope. Fit as a fiddle. Thanks for patching me up, doctor."

The medic ignored him and turned to the other man. "It seems to have it's energy back, though it does seem manically excitable, which could be an adrenaline high from being in a new setting and could soon drop or fade away. I recommend that you go easy on it's training for now, Bachir, until we can get a better understanding of its natural state."

'Thank you, doctor, I'll make sure to keep that in mind." The man, Bachir, said stiffly as he continued to watch the Doctor shift on his feet, unable to stand still under the impassive glare. He reminded the Doctor of a drill sergeant in the military; harsh, impersonal, and unforgiving, with just a hint of sadistic pleasure found in other's suffering. He already knew right off the bat that he wasn't going to enjoy his company at all.

The medic nodded. "Well then, if you're sure everything feels normal, 305, I'll leave you to your keeper." He left the room quickly, passing the clipboard over to his co-worker. Bachir read over a bit of the medic's notes before dropping the chart. It made a harsh  _snap_ as it hit the tiled ground. The Doctor repressed the urge to flinch at the sound. Something – no, everything – about this man set him on edge. But he hid it all, as usual, behind a false welcoming smile.

"Hello! So, I guess you're my 'keeper' now? Going to train me all up to be a good little slave and please my mast – OUFF!"

Bachir's fist slammed without warning into the Doctor's gut with such force that the Time Lord found himself suddenly down two knees and a hand, the other wrapped tightly around his abdomen as he gasped for breath. He didn't get a chance to recover as another fist smashed into his jaw, sending him falling sideways. He tasted thick, metallic blood drench his tongue from where his teeth bit into the wall of his cheek. A leather boot made contact with his side. A rib cracked. The bone shifted painfully beneath his skin as the heel of the boot was driven into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him once again. It continued, one blow or kick after another, until the Doctor lay curled on the ground curled tightly into the smallest ball his lanky body could make, trying to avoid whatever hit might come next. It felt like it went on for ages.

Finally, the keeper stepped back, panting slightly from the beating he'd just administered and brushing back a strand of black hair that had fallen out of place during the chaos. The Doctor allowed himself to unravel from his protective ball, his muscles screaming and crying from the abuse. To both of their surprise, he started to laugh. He started to laugh so as to keep the tears from forming and falling from his eyes.

"So…this is – what you do?" He wheezed as he fought once more for air. "Beat the – d-daylights out of your students? You must get – fantastic class reviews."

Bachir grabbed the front of the Doctor's shirt and lifted him up. The Doctor's face was cut and bleeding and already forming dark bruises around his left eye and cheek. Bachir released him, forcing the Doctor to stand on his own. The Doctor wrapped one arm around his damaged torso while the other hung limply at his side, dislocated at the shoulder.

"You will not speak out of turn, 305." He instructed as he began to move around the Doctor, examining him as he tried to alleviate as much pain from his body as possible. "You will refer to me only as sir and only when I have asked you for a direct response. You will not object or hesitate to comply with any of my commands and you will do so in a gracious manner. Any failure to meet these rules will be punished. If I believe you are holding back, you will be punished. If, for any reason, I feel you are being resistant or disobedient, you will be punished. I am here to train you, not baby-sit you, and you will work hard in order to better satisfy your new master when you are bought. Am I making myself clear? You will respond with either a 'yes, sir' or a 'no, sir'."

The Doctor's eyes burned in annoyance as he listened to the man list off every limit to his freedom. Well, he might not technically be a 'free' man, but that didn't mean he was about to roll over, sit, or shake on command.

"So, tell me," Came the Doctor's response after a moment. "Which of your rules did I break so as to earn  _this_ round of punishment,  _sir_?" He hissed the last word sarcastically. His words were met with a sharp back-hand that sent him sliding into the wall. He pressed against it as Bachir stepped up close, pinning him against the wall as their noses nearly touched.

"This is simply your first lesson, 305. A lesson in position. You have done absolutely nothing so far so as  _not_ to deserve this beating. You must first earn your right to avoid a beating, and know that it is never within your ability to tell whether you deserve praise or scolding. And it will continue until you have learned to accept this fact. The first step in producing a compliant animal is to remove it's belief that it deserves better. You are an  _animal,_ 305, a thing, a possession, and what you  _deserve_ is to be put down. We are taking you in and educating you out of the goodness of our hearts and it is therefore your duty to repay us for our kindness."

He stepped back and pulled the Doctor away from the wall, swinging him around by the front of his shirt and shoving him back towards the middle of the room. The Doctor tripped and fell, landing with a pained howl on his dislocated shoulder. He rolled over to see his keeper standing over him, holding a leather whip that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. The Doctor's eyes widened as he stared at it. No. No, was this really going to happen?

Bachir tapped the whip harmlessly in the palm of his hand, eliciting a shard  _crack_ from the leather. "Your training," He said down to the frozen slave at his feet. "Will begin once I am completely convinced you have accepted your rightful place, which is right here at your master's feet. Until then –"

The whip cut through the air, creating a gently  _whish_ ing noise before...  _CRACK!_


	18. Chapter 18

_CRACK!_

_CRACK!_

_CRACK!_

The smallest whimper escaped the Doctor's lips as the braided leather ripped through the already torn and bloodied skin on his back. Tears burned his cheeks as his face was further pressed into the unforgiving cold tiles of the floor. His shirt had been torn off before the session began and now the ridged bottom of a boot was pressed against his shoulder blades, pinning him to the ground as the whip was brought down on his lower back over and over again.

_CRACK!_

This was session number twelve. Day six. The routine had quickly been established and the Doctor did not like it one bit. Every morning during his one meal and every night while he lay curled and recovering in his cage, they came for him and hauled him back to that room. No words would be exchanged before the blows began to fall, and even the Doctor, master of allowing his gob to run away with him, was unable to talk his way out of his 'training'. At first he'd fought back, dodging his keeper's fists and feet with relative ease thanks to his advanced reflexes, but that only resulted in the return of the whip and the fiery sting of the leather cutting into his skin. That, along with the Doctor's exhausted, starved, abused body, ended the Doctor's physical resistance.

_CRACK!_

"Just give in." Lalay had advised him on the third day as he limped up to her in the cafeteria, plopping down on the bench as if his legs had suddenly decided to take their lunch break and give out on him. He simply shook his head, offering what he hoped was a reassuring smile, before attempting to shovel down as much breakfast as he could before they came for him. It was always in vain; once the 'training' began it was always a struggle just to keep the unsatisfying substance down, and more often than not the Doctor ended up failing. He was beginning to feel the painful gnawing of starvation and malnutrition plaguing his body. But he didn't give in. He'd endured worse before, and, knowing his line of work and certain proclivity for danger, he most likely would in the future again. This was a battle of wills in the end.

_CRACK!_

However, with each crack of the whip and shredding of his back, the Doctor felt his will lessen. Not enough to break him – it would take far more than this to break a Time Lord – but enough for him to consider sacrificing his pride and ego in the hopes of lessening his unjust punishment. Perhaps Lalay had the right idea all along; appease the keepers and hopefully earn yourself a bit of relief time so as to recover or, in the Doctor's case, plot. He hadn't had a single chance over the last few days to think about anything, much less enough time to figure out a way to escape. Every spare moment of his time when he wasn't being used as a punching bag or whipping post the Doctor spent asleep, healing his wounds and retaining as much energy as he could. They gave him no medical help (well, that was more or less true, for the treatment he was given for his injuries felt like it caused more harm than good) and so he relied largely on his own regenerative energy to help soothe his aching body. None of the injuries inflicted were debilitating – they wanted to break their slaves, not  _break_  their slaves – but that didn't make them hurt any less.

_CRACK!_

He cried out, biting his tongue to silence it but it was too late. Another strike came soon after and he wasn't quick enough to bottle up that shout of pain either. How many strikes had it been? At least two dozen. Maybe more. He couldn't remember. The lines of destroyed skin criss-crossed each other all over his back, causing them to stretch and strain even more. Just breathing made it even more painful.

He heard the dull clatter of the whip hitting the ground on the other side of the room and dared to release a sigh of relief. The boot on his shoulder stepped back and the Doctor immediately attempted to push himself up, scurry away from his tormentor, but the foot came back quickly, slamming him back onto the ground, digging and tearing into the fresh wounds on his lower back. The Doctor screamed out as his back felt like it was engulfed in flames. More pressure was added by the boot and, writhing beneath it, the Doctor couldn't take much more. "No…" He whispered painfully into the ground. "P-p-please…"

That hurt even more than the beating. They had gotten a plea out of him, they got him to beg. The Doctor shuddered at how easy it had been. He had lasted six whole days without begging. He had only lasted six short days before begging. He couldn't tell which twist of the statement was true. Was he strong or was he weak? He simply couldn't tell anymore.

Bachir lightly jabbed the Doctor's side with his toe in response, signaling that it was now acceptable to get up. The Doctor shoved himself up on shaking arms so he was resting on his knees, the lashes across his back screaming in agony as the muscles beneath his skin moved and twisted. He tried to discretely wipe his eyes, which were now red and swollen from failing to suppress his tears.

As was customary after these sessions, a bucket of soapy water and a rag were thrown at him. "Clean up." His keeper commanded as he stomped out the door, another slave – the Doctor assumed he was another one of Bachir's trainees, further along in the program then he – hurrying after him with dead, down-turned eyes. The Doctor sighed despairingly as he grabbed the rag, drenched it in the soapy water, and began to clean his own orange-red blood off the floor. He supposed it wasn't so outrageous of a request; he had caused the mess, after all. It was his blood staining the floor, defiling the pure whiteness of the tiles, and therefore it was his fault, his responsibility. If he hadn't bled there wouldn't be a sticky red mess to clean up, so he might as well right his wrong.

 _No!_ The Doctor reprimanded himself as he wrung out the already scarlet rag. He hated that he was already starting to think like that. Of course it was an outrageous request! He had just been tortured until his own valuable life-liquid ran across the tiles in streams and was then forced to clean it all up with his back still ravaged and burning. Blood was still running from the slashes and hitting the floor, adding even more work to his load. But he scrubbed away at the ground anyway, attempting to keep ahead of the freshly gushing blood.

He had tried on the first day to object. Bachir threw him the bucket and rag, instructed him to clean, and left. The Doctor had laughed, not really believing Bachir was expecting him to say "Yes, sir!" and quickly follow the order with a smile on his face. And so he didn't touch the rag. He didn't touch it for hours. No one came back. The door was latched from the outside, so the Doctor was forced to stay put. After hours and hours the overwhelming stench of his own blood made him want to wretch, but there was nothing in his stomach to throw up. He became so thirsty but the only water in the room was filled with inedible soap. He soon realized that he couldn't stay in there for much longer, but no one was going to come for him until he finished his task. And so, begrudgingly, the Doctor took up the rag and began to clean. It was another half hour before the tiles were once again white and the soapy water was pink, and then finally the door opened and he was dragged back to his cage, given a bottle of water and two slices of bread, and finally left to sleep.

That, with a few exceptions, had also become part of the routine. Now the Doctor sat on his knees while he scrubbed away the last of the blood, trying in vain to ignore his angry back. His hands were raw from the harsh soap and were now stained pink. The door was thrown open just as he wrung out the rag for the last time and he suppressed the urge to flinch. "You finished yet?" One of the guards asked callously.

The Doctor stood, letting the rag fall from his hand uncaringly to  _splat_  on the clean floor. He stared the guards evenly in the eyes but said nothing. He had learned rather quickly that they didn't much like the sound of his voice. The guard surveyed the Time Lord's work and nodded his head when he found the cleaning acceptable. "Against the wall." He commanded as he motioned for the other guard to grab something from the hall. The Doctor didn't respond. He didn't want to. He knew what was coming. Routine.

The guard stepped forward and grabbed the Doctor, spinning him around so his chest was pinned against the wall, back exposed. The harsh smell of pure alcohol struck the Doctor's nose and he immediately started to squirm. "No, gentlemen, really, I'm fine. I'm f –AGH!" He shouted as a cloth drenched in alcohol was brushed none-too-gently over the wounds on his back. The chemical stung and seared as it made contact with his open skin and could almost be considered it's own kind of torture, but the Doctor knew it was necessary to keep the wounds from becoming infected. But it still hurt and the Doctor still hated it. The guards, however, seemed to relish in making the slave writhe and squirm.

They released him once the job was done and shoved his shirt into his arms. "Get dressed." The Doctor was more than happy to obey, not enjoying the way their eyes watched his bare skin hungrily. The Eyal facility had a relatively strong policy against the guards and employees forcing themselves on the slaves for sale, not wanting to damage the property –  _that's ironic,_ the Doctor had thought as his body seared with pain. But the principle more closely followed by the guards was more along the lines of "what management doesn't know…won't hurt  _me_."

It hadn't happened to the Doctor as of that moment, but Lalay had more or less informed him about the privately amended policy through her eyes. As had a lot of the other slaves in the facility. They had all seen, all experienced, far too much. The Doctor felt sick and terrified and guilty all at once.

And still, after six days, he had still not seen Rose.

That night at dinner – occasionally when the guards were happy they would allow the slaves to have a second meal – The Doctor found Lalay again. He had only just finished his 'training', his back still burning from the alcohol, and his stomach roared for something to eat. Even the usual watery potato soup looked like Christmas dinner to the starving Time Lord.

"Hello again, Lalay!" He greeted her as he collapsed onto their usual bench. After their first conversation the Aonian had started to warm up to him. She would hold small conversations with him during meals, smile at him back in the cages, and rattle the meshing between them in the mornings to wake him up and warn him to move into the corner to avoid the 'good-morning shock's.

Lalay rolled her eyes at the name but had given up trying to convince him to call her 212. "Still not giving in?" It was more of a statement than a question.

The Doctor sniffed proudly before taking a sip of soup. "Give up? Me. Nah! Never give up, never surrender, that's my motto. Well, actually, I may have borrowed that one, but who's keeping score?" His response, however, was slightly less enthusiastic than usual, and Lalay noticed.

"You know, there is no weakness in obedience, 305." She told him in her surprisingly calming voice. "Stubbornness is simply a sign of lack of moral flexibility and strength."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "You believe strength is to cower at your master's feet?"

"No, but I believe strength is to do what is best for  _you_. How far has your stubbornness gotten you since you arrived?"

The Doctor's eyes fell to his small bowl of soup. She was right, in a way. His inflexible refusal to submit had done nothing for him except bring him a few more sleepless nights of blood and pain. He shook his head quickly as if trying to shake of the very idea and dove back into his soup.

A few bites later he looked up. Lalay was still there, carefully chewing her own dinner as if it were a sacred treasure. "So I have a question for you." The Doctor finally said. Lalay looked up and quirked an eyebrow as her signal to go on. "You've been here for a while, right?" She immediately looked back down, her cheeks becoming even redder than before, and he rolled his eyes.  _Dumb question, Doctor._ "I was just wondering if you've seen a girl here. Probably around your age. Skin pinkish-white, kind of like mine, and yellow hair. Would have arrived here about two weeks ago…?"

"Around the same time as you?"

The Doctor swallowed. "Yes. We were…acquired together."

Lalay continued to look down, expressionless. "Was she your mate?"

" _Is._ " The Doctor corrected her past tense. "And no! Well, yes, kind of, not really. It's a long story. But anyway, have you seen her?"

Lalay shook her head sadly. "No, I'm sorry, 305." The Doctor hung his head with a sigh. It had been a long-shot anyway. This place was probably huge, he had no idea how many cellblocks and levels there could be. She could be anywhere. She could be….she could be… "But it's only been two weeks, so most likely she wouldn't be for sale or sold yet." The Doctor glanced up quickly, staring at her as if she'd just read his mind. She shrugged at his shocked expression. "Usually new stock that are brought in on the same ship stay together, for categorizing purposes, but often when there's a mated pair they like to separate them, it makes them more weak and compliant. If you're good and  _obedient,_ " She put extra emphasis on the word, "Maybe they will reward you with her."

The Doctor continued to stare at her in disbelief. "They would do that?"

Lalay nodded slowly. "You may not have noticed it yet because you're being so mulish, but they work on a reward system here. If you know how to work it like I tried suggesting to you before, this place can actually be somewhat bearable." As if to emphasize her point, Lalay reach into the waistband of her pants and pulled out, to the Doctor's utter amazement, a small but fresh and fluffy looking bread roll. The Doctor immediately felt a pang of astonishment and jealousy. He hadn't seen anything that could nearly be described as 'fresh' since he and Rose had been eating at that restaurant on Koyer 5 right before visiting the Drephesh just over three weeks earlier.

Lalay winked before quickly slipping the bread back into its hiding place, glancing around to make sure none of the guards had seen. She poured the rest of her soup down her throat and stood, leaving the Doctor stunned and questioning without another word.

* * *

The Doctor's hearts hammered faster than was probably healthy as the guards dragged him down the now all too familiar hallway back to the torture room. He was nervous and scared, admittedly, and was in the middle of a horrendous battle with himself that caused him to be even more distracted during the walk, earning him a few swift kicks and jabs to bring him back to attention.

He'd had the whole night to think about what Lalay had told him. And for once he could actually tolerate staying awake for more than a few minutes thanks to his 'full' stomach and the pleasant warm glow of finally formulating a plan. He didn't like it, not one bit, and almost everything that made him  _him_ was screaming at him to stop being so ridiculous. But he'd made up his mind. This is what he had to do.

The guards threw him into the room as carelessly as if he were a stuffed animal and slammed the door shut behind them. The Doctor waited for his keeper to arrive, shuffling nervously on his feet and pacing a few steps in each direction before quickly hurrying back to stand in the middle of the room. He felt frantic. He just wanted to run, but there was no where to go.

He heard the footsteps long before they reached the door, thanks to his excellent Time Lord senses. He stopped his pacing and fidgeting and prepared himself, taking a deep breath to relax his shoulders as he took up a spot in the middle of the room. He forced himself to stand with his shoulders slightly hunched, head angled downwards, stance for once unthreatening or challenging, as the door was unlatched a thrown open. The Doctor flinched at the loud sound, only half pretending.

Bachir stood in the doorway, the usual slave behind him. The Doctor felt horrible about still not knowing his name (or number, actually). But now was not the time for that. The Doctor quickly looked down at Bachir's feet and compelled his knees to bend, allowing them to crash to the ground as he knelt in the middle of the room. His shoulders were rounded. His eyes on the ground. His hands resting uselessly at his sides. He was the image of submission and defeat.

He could almost sense Bachir's surprise as the keeper entered the room. He stepped forward until he towered over his charge, who kept his gaze pointedly on the floor a few inches away from his feet. He saw the slave shudder at the close proximity.

"P-please," The Doctor swallowed heavily and forced it out, "Sir. I-I c-c-can't. N-not anym-m-more. Please." He wanted to vomit as he said the words, giving into this man who had been torturing him for the last week, but he forced his words to be said in whispers and quickly quieted whatever rebellious voice shouted out from within his mind. He knew this was what he needed to do, for Rose, for himself. And if the Doctor was going to be honest he was more than a little relieved to hopefully end the punishment. "I kn-know I deserve th-this, I unders-s-stand. P-please."

His keeper was silent for a while, causing the Doctor to shiver with anticipation. Then the man knelt down in front of him and put a finger beneath the Doctor's chin, lifting his face in an almost gentle manner. The Doctor was forced to look up and he quickly stifled any flicker of defiance that might be held in his eyes. He dug down and pulled forth all the fear and sorrow he could muster, reaching as far back as the Time War to make his eyes shaky and watery with worry. Even then he made sure not to look his keeper in the eye.

"Look at me, 305." Bachir commanded and the Doctor instantly obeyed, flicking his eyes up to meet the keeper's. "I'm very proud of you, 305." The keeper continued. "You are learning your place. Good boy." He patted the side of the Doctor's head like one would a dog and the Doctor tried hard not to recoil too much. Bachir's hand disappeared from under his chin as the man rose and the Doctor let his eyes fall to the floor once again. He didn't make a move to stand up as well. He kneeled on the ground in submission at his keeper's feet, just like he'd been promised from the start.

"However," Bachir's voice was harsh again, causing the Doctor to force a flinch. "You must learn not to expect to get what you ask for every time. After today's session you will enter proper training. You will be given a proper medical check-up, nutrients, and exercise, and in return you will obey my every command. Is that understood, 305?"

"Yes, sir." The Doctor whispered as he realized what the keeper meant. The torture would stop. His wounds would be addressed properly and he would be allowed to rest and recover. But the word 'after' hung like a devil in the air.  _After_   _today's session._

The keeper accepted the leather whip from the other slave, who quickly withdrew back into the furthest corner in the room, and returned his attention to the Doctor. This time the Doctor didn't fake the shaking, didn't have to act like he was scared. His eyes followed the braided tail of the lash with a look of absolute desolation. "I want you to know," Bachir stated, "That I am truly proud of you, and you will get your reward."

If his reward was the sharp slap of the whip that sliced through his skin once again, eliciting a pained and shocked shout as he fell backwards against the floor, the Doctor thought it had come far too soon.


	19. Chapter 19

The floor was once again sticky with the Doctor's blood. But he clearly didn't care as he curled up against it, wishing he could simply vanish through the floor and escape the latest dose of pain. He didn't understand. He had given in, he had submitted, he had done exactly what the keeper had wanted. So why was he still being punished? Why was Bachir's boot still slamming into his side with enough force to send his skinny frame across the room? His ribs were strong, much stronger that a human's or a Drephesh's, but one more blow like that and the Doctor knew the bones would simply give in as well. He was already having enough trouble breathing as it was.

It made no sense.  _It isn't fair!_  The Doctor forced down a cry as he was struck again in the same spot. There was a small  _crack_  as one of the bones split but didn't completely break. The pain was intense though. He gasped loudly, coughing, the violent hacking movement causing his injured side to sear even more. He curled around himself even tighter.  _It's just not_ fair _! Why can't I ever do anything right?!_

The next blow never came, and for that he let out a grateful sob. Were they done? "Come on." His keeper said almost gently as he lifted the Doctor off the ground by his forearm. The Doctor yelped as the movement jolted his injured ribs. He was shaking all over; he'd simply lost too much blood over the last few days, even with his micro-comas for healing. He was covered in blood once again as the red-orange stuff became saturated in the fabric of his track pants. He wanted to move away from his keeper's touch but knew he could hardly stand on his own.

The other slave came dashing forward with the bucket and rag and the Doctor moved automatically to take them from him. But his keeper batted his hand away, causing the Doctor to recoil slightly. Bachir snapped his fingers at the other slave and pointed towards the Doctor's mess. The slave immediately dropped and began to scrub. The Doctor instantly felt guilty that the man was forced to do this demeaning job, but he didn't have much time to ponder it as Bachir jerked his arm, extracting a pained yelp. "Follow me, 305."

"Yes, sir." The Doctor forced passed the lump in his throat. It was going to take a while to get used to swallowing his pride and feigning obedience, especially with this incarnation's cheeky, stubborn attitude. But it was necessary. He limped after the keeper as he marched out the door, one arm wrapped around his aching ribs, casting an apologetic look at the slave now elbow deep in cleaning up his blood.

It was as if the adrenaline from his defiance had been all that was holding the Doctor together, as if it had somehow worked to numb the elongated pain of the torture sessions. But now that he had given in, it all seemed to be rushing in on him. He felt every tear in his skin, every bite of the whip, every bruise from a boot or fist. For the first time he realized how weak his legs felt, like jelly coming out of the microwave, holding its frame but ready to melt away at any moment. He felt like a new-born buck trying to find his feet at the end of his spindly legs. And each step he took sent stabs of pain through his chest. He hated feeling so weak.

He almost made it to the door before one misstep sent a wave of stress through his ribs. He crashed down to one knee, cradling his injured chest, and let escape a single groan of discomfort. He screwed his eye shut and willed his regenerative energy to mend the bone as soon as possible, but before it could a pair of boots entered his line of vision. "Guards!" The wearer of those boots called. The Doctor flinched. Why was he calling in the guards? Were they coming in to help inflict more tortures on him? Did his single trip and fall merit a punishment so soon?

He looked up as if to try and find the answers to those questions in Bachir's eyes, but as soon as their eyes meet the keeper slapped him across the face and forced his head back down. "You will never make direct eye contact unless openly instructed to." Bachir commanded as he continued to push the Doctor's head down until his chin practically touched his collarbone. "You are not worth enough to be able to look into your owner's eyes, only at the dirt on their shoes. Do you understand, 305?"

The Doctor nodded as best he could with Bachir's hand still pressed against his skull. He heard the footsteps of the guards coming in to stand behind the keeper and resisted the urge to visibly recoil. "Help it to the shower room, wash it, get it some new clothes, and then get it checked over by Vadim before bringing it to me for categorization. Do  _nothing_ else."

The guards acknowledged their instructions and grabbed their charge under the arms. Before they lifted him up Bachir ran a hand through the Doctor's hair, ruffling it and scratching him behind the ear like one might praise a dog. The Doctor jerked his head away from the demeaning touch but didn't say anything about it. He needed them to believe he was completely docile now.

The guards yanked him up and he yelped as the movement ricocheted through his ribs. The Doctor got his feet beneath him as they led him out the door, but instead of turning left like they always did to go back to the cages, they turned right down a new corridor. The Doctor's curiosity piqued. What wonders awaited him down here? Well, probably the shower room, considering what Bachir had instructed to the guards, and the Doctor was not about to argue with that command. He was filthy and could probably be smelled throughout the entire complex. He hadn't had a proper shower or bath since before getting caught at the outpost three weeks earlier and he was now covered in grime and dried sweat and blood.

They brought him into a room that was no doubt used for showering; the floor was made of tile that slanted downwards to a drain at the center of the room and there were six detachable shower heads placed along the walls with long coils of flexible piping so as to allow the nozzle to be pulled and moved into the desired place. The place was empty. The guards marched to one of the showering stations and practically shoved him into the wall. "Strip." They commanded.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Ay chance for a bit of privacy?" He asked without really expecting any. And from the way the guards just glared at him the Doctor knew the answer. Grumbling, he turned his back to them and carefully peeled off his destroyed shirt. Bits of skin and dried blood stuck to it and tore off his back as he grimaced. Then, with a sigh of resignation as he was all too aware of the guards still lingering, staring, behind him, he shimmied off the track pants as well.

When he was done he reached up for the nozzle, ready to wash away all the grime covering his body. But then one of the guards grabbed him by the upper arm and dragged him backwards. The Doctor shouted out as the back of his knee was kicked in and he crashed, once again, to his knees. The other guard grabbed the nozzle off the wall, flicking on the water before turning it on the Doctor, who yelled in surprise. The water was  _freezing_ cold, and the pressure pounded against the raw skin on his back. He got a lungful of water as the guard carelessly sprayed him down and began to cough violently.

The water was turned off and the second guard grabbed a bar of gritty soap and began massaging it roughly into the Doctor's matted hair. His fingernails scrapped uncomfortably over the Doctor's scalp. Then the other guard approached with another bar of soap and, to the Doctor's extreme dislike, began to cruelly scrub away at the blood coating his back, irritating the cuts and subsequently making them bleed even more.

"Seriously, guys, I think I can manage on my own, thanks." He gasped out as another slash on his back opened up. His statement earned him a quick slap before the guards both stepped away and took up the shower nozzle once again. This time the Doctor was able to brace himself for the spray. He sighed with relief as he realized the water had warmed up. Now it was pleasantly luke-warm – not quite as pleasant as it would have been to get a hot shower for once, but light-years better than the freezing cold onslaught of earlier.

He felt the dirt and sweat and blood washing down his body along with the suds, disappearing through the drain. He wished he could stay under the current for hours, but unfortunately the water switched off as soon as the job was done. He was pulled to his feet and a towel was thrown into his arms. The Doctor quickly dried himself off and wrapped the towel around his waist, not liking the look on the guards' faces one bit. He glanced down at his old shirt and pants, shredded, bloody, and now soaking wet. "Uh…you don't happen to have any change of clothes, do you?" He asked, desperate to get  _something_ on besides the thin towel.

One of the guards rolled his eyes and stormed off, hopefully in search of something for the 'slave' to wear. The other guard remained, leering at the Doctor as the Time Lord tried to ignore the look.

"Shame your keeper's pleased with you today." The guard suddenly spoke up. "Shame he wants to ruin our fun." He took a step closer and the Doctor simultaneously took one away. Like they were dancing. The guard's eyes raked over him hungrily. "Because we would definitely have some fun with a pretty little thing like you."

The Doctor swallowed heavily as he stared warningly into the guard's eyes. "Yeah…a 'shame' is definitely the word I'd use for it too."

The guard struck him hard across the face. "What did you're keeper just tell you about making eye contact?"

The Doctor, holding his now reddened cheek, glared up at the guard and very pointedly made eye contact once again before spiting, "He told me not to make eye contact with those who are _better_ than me. But I'm not entirely sure that situation applies right n – UF!" He reeled backwards as the guard's fist slammed into his stomach.

The other guard reentered the room at that time, carrying in his arms another pair of identical gray track-pants and a shirt. He cast a warning look at his co-worker, who still had his fist drawn back, before shoving the new clothes into the arms of the winded Doctor. He gratefully took them and pulled them on as quickly as he could with his now aching stomach and searing ribs. Once he was done they dragged him back out of the room and down another hallway. His wet feet slipped on the tiles but he managed to walk on his own.

They brought him to another door, opened it up, threw him inside, and slammed the door shut behind him before marching away. The Doctor picked himself up from the stumble, still holding his side. The room he'd been brought to now was much more interesting than the last two. The floor in here was actually carpet, which felt amazingly soft to his bare feet, and there were various alien plants potted decoratively in the corners of the room. There were two small couches and a large desk strewn with papers and files, and in one corner the carpet gave way to tile and there was a medical examining table centered beside a row of white cabinets and a sink.

The Doctor limped over to the desk, glancing quickly over the papers which all turned out to be medical reports and examinations. He found a single picture on the desk, half buried beneath the papers, of a Drephesh man and a young girl he could only assume was his daughter by the similar orange tint in her eyes. The Doctor immediately recognized the man in the picture as the doctor who had treated him after his allergic reaction. Vadim, he thought he remembered the man being called.

The door behind him suddenly opened again and the Doctor quickly set the picture down before spinning around, hearts pumping fast. The man in the picture had just entered the room and was casting his orange eyes over the Doctor. "Please don't touch the items on the desk, 305." Vadim said calmly. The Doctor instantly bowed his head and stepped away from the desk. This doctor would probably be in close contact with Bachir throughout his training, and therefore it was essential that he also believe the Doctor to be broken.

Vadim read over a chart in his hand as he wandered slowly over to the examination area. The Doctor stayed where he was, watching him without staring at him, wondering what he was going to do. Vadim placed the chart down on the cabinet counter and patted the examination table. "Come on over, let's see how you're doing."

The Doctor, surprised by how casual and friendly the medic sounded, quickly made his way over. At Vadim's request he shifted up onto the table, wincing. Vadim seemed to notice and squinted at him suspiciously. "Off with the shirt, if you don't mind, 305." He instructed. The Doctor thought it'd have been much more convenient if he'd just left the shirt off the begin with, but he managed to pull it over his head once again with minimal effort. Vadim made an annoyed noise through his nose.

"I thought," He said as he made his way behind the Doctor, examining the numerous gashes and cuts on his back as well as the already forming bruise around his ribs, "I'd told Bachir to take it easy on you after your recovery."

"Yeah, well, I don't think he was listening." The Doctor said before he could stop himself. Vadim simply laughed.

"No, it appears he wasn't. Stay here." Vadim moved to one of the drawers on the wall and pulled out something the Doctor couldn't see. He came back to the table, standing behind the Doctor. "This may hurt at first." He warned and the Doctor immediately tensed as Vadim's hand pressed against the torn skin on his back. But the Doctor's hiss of pain quickly turned to a sigh of relief as a satisfying cooling sensation ran through his wounds. The pain was immediately eased. The Doctor caught a whiff of whatever Vadim had put on his back; a mixture of peppermint and lortan, a flower found on the planet Pervigeo.

"Oblen oil?" The Doctor's voice gave away his surprise as he recognized the medication.

"Yes. Have you encountered it before?"

"Use it all the time. But that's a Pervigian remedy, only known on that planet, how can you have it so readily available?"

"Well," Vadim sounded thoughtful as he continued to rub the ointment into the Doctor's skin, which was already starting to heal over due to the remarkable characteristics of the lortan's pulverized petals. "You certainly know your medication facts. Did you used to study medicine?"

The Doctor snorted softly. "I thought my free past no longer mattered?" He tried to keep the angry sneer out of his voice.

"It does if it can help you be categorized. The more we know about you, 305, the better we can find you a proper owner who will be pleased with your work."

The Doctor sighed, sagging his shoulders. "I don't  _want_ an owner." He muttered, feeling himself relaxing too much in the medic's affable company. He half expected to be struck for the statement, punished for sounding disobedient against the life they were 'so graciously giving him'.

But instead Vadim chose not to respond. They sat in silence for a moment, the medic finishing up with the last cut on his back and now moving to one that had formed beneath the Doctor's hairline. "So…did you study medicine before?" Vadim asked again. The Doctor took a moment to figure out how to respond. The answer was yes and the answer was no, and he didn't know which one would help him out more. So he opted not to say anything, to which Vadim added. "She calls you a doctor, you know."

The Doctor jumped, spinning around. "Rose?"

"Don't move, 305." Vadim snapped, but the Doctor wasn't listening.

"You've spoken to her. Where is she? Is she alright?"

"305, be silent and turn back around so I can finish helping you." He no longer sounded so casual, but more demanding, and the Doctor quickly turned back around, hoping that if he obeyed he might get some information out of the medic.

After a pause, Vadim spoke up again. "Yes, I have seen your mate. She is fine, she's going through training now and seems to be excelling. At this rate she will most likely earn a high recommendation score and be sold to a quality buyer."

The Doctor growled at this, feeling his suppressed rage coming back to the surface. "You are  _not_ selling her like some livestock to the highest bidder! She's a sentient being – we all are – and we don't deserve this kind of treatment."

Vadim simply laughed as he screwed the top back onto the jar of Oblen oil. "I'd be careful of that mouth of yours, 305, or you're going to get yourself into even more trouble than you've been in, and quite honestly I'd rather not see you on my table every day. I have other patients to tend to." The Doctor was silent at this, trying once again to put a lid on his anger at the whole situation. They were going to be sold like cattle at an auction and so far there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't even comfort the woman he l – there had to be a way out of this place that wasn't as the property of some wealthy sadist and he would find it. But first he needed to find Rose.

"Now," Vadim continued, putting on a doctor-ly voice. "Unfortunately the Oblen oil cannot mend things beneath the skin's surface, so I'm going to have to wrap that rib of yours. It could take a while for the bone to completely heal and may continue to cause you pain for another few days, so try your best not to exert yourself. I'll tell your keeper the same, but who knows if the stubborn fool will listen or not. But based on the remarkable healing I saw from you last week, we can probably assume you'll be feeling much better long before my suggested recovery time. Which brings me to my next question: What are you?"

The Doctor tensed. Vadim must have noticed for he paused in his wrapping to stare at the Doctor, who quickly looked down and hoped the movement would be seen as respectfully avoiding eye contact instead of guiltily avoiding eye contact. He thought quickly, what was the lie he'd used back at the outpost? "Human." He said finally, hoping the gap between the question and answer hadn't been long enough to merit suspicious.

"Oh, yes, of course." Vadim replied sarcastically as he continued the spin the gauze wrap around the Doctor's chest. "Despite the accelerated healing, two hearts, and vast knowledge of extraterrestrial life and culture which are all uncharacteristic or our knowledge of the earth-dwellers, I'm sure you're speaking the truth."

Thinking quickly, the Doctor responded. "Well, strictly speaking I'm a  _mutated_ human, but still technically human."

Vadim raised his eyebrows and laughed. "A  _mutated_ human?" He repeated disbelievingly.

"Yes, radioactive spider bite, nasty little buggers. Gave me accelerated regenerative ability, which made me develop a second vascular system to manage the extra energy and advanced cognitive capability…most spiders on earth have that…" He added quickly at the end. Vadim continued to laugh at him in the way one might to a child announcing they had learned how to fly.

"No matter, 305," He said as he finished binding his chest and secured it with a line of strong medical tape. "We exported your DNA information to Galactic Command and they should be sending the results back shortly. Soon enough we'll know what you're trying to hide from us."

He patted the Doctor gently on the shoulder in a non-threatening way, but the Doctor's hearts were beating double-time. They couldn't identify him. They just couldn't. There was no telling what they would do if they discovered the one man who had nearly destroyed all of Eyal not so many years ago was already completely at their mercy. And if they uncovered him…if they took out their revenge on him like they undoubtedly would…then there would be no help for Rose either. She would be stuck here in this horrible place, or else sold to some planetary baron for their sick morality. He couldn't allow that to happen. He couldn't allow them to identify his race.

Vadim called the guards back in, who dragged the Doctor off the table, mindless of his bound torso, and led him from the office back to his keeper. Back to training.


	20. Chapter 20

His eyes scanned the paperwork one more time before releasing a worried groan. Ren placed the pages on his desk, keeping them separate from the rest of the mess of files, and rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes. One of his contacts slide out of position so it looked as if he had two iris', one orange and one light blue. With a practiced hand, Ren moved the contact back into place. His world once again became tinted orange from the coloring, making everything look like it had been filmed in sepia. He had spent ten years in this world of unnatural orange; so long that he'd almost forgotten what it was like to see unhindered. To see the green grass as what it was, to see the blue sky as something other than dirtied greenish-brown, just like the way he remembered it all back on Earth. In some way Ren supposed it was fitting, his memory of his home planet remaining untainted while this place dulled his vision daily.

Ren ruffled his hair. This was not good. The report had been far from favorable, and the crew was not going to be happy. No, not even that. They were going to be furious. And not even the generous bonus they all received from turning in the Doctor and Rose would hold them in his good favors. They were falling behind, their costs far outweighing their production. The mines were becoming bare. The slaves they had acquired were dying off like may-flies in December. They couldn't keep working their remaining slaves in this manner, or else they'd be left with no one.

But the men simply didn't understand that. The slaves were beasts of burden in their eyes, nothing more than animals to force to do their bidding and dispose of when they were no longer useful. They didn't understand that these _people_ had the same limits as themselves and could only be driven to work so hard.

Eyal, however, was even less likely to understand. They kept sending him notifications, warning him that if his outpost didn't start producing more, they would either be shut do or have management replaced, even after their latest contribution to Eyal's most profitable trade. And no one was just 'fired' from Eyal. No one can just 'leave'. And Ren couldn't risk being seen as a failure in their eyes when so much rode on staying in their good graces.

Ren sighed and poured himself a glass of the same auburn liquid he'd once offered Rose what felt like so long ago. For that infinitesimal amount of time he had been with another human again. He had spoken to another human, spoken English, something that had so terrifyingly become scratchy and slow to him after years and years of speaking the rough tongue of Drephesh. He needed to get out of there. He didn't know how much longer he could take. Rose reminded him so much of why he wanted to go back home, and he hadn't realized exactly how desperate he was for that scent of pine trees and freshly mowed grass he'd taken such advantage of in his youth. He needed to get back.

But there was nothing he could do about that now. Maybe some day he could hatch another plan, but the closest he had ever gotten was when that Doctor fellow had been here. He had been so close he could almost smell the spray rolling off the Pacific Ocean where he had once made his home. The Doctor said he could take him back, but now the alien was in Eyal, about to be sold off. Ren laughed as a bizarre thought crossed his mind, but a moment later his desperation ruled it as actually being somewhat sane. He had a lot of money stored up, having earned more than the average man at the outpost due to his position, and, unlike most of the other men, did not see the point in spending it on useless trinkets and entertainment. Yes, he had a fair amount of money, but enough to buy a personal slave?

He shook his head and turned back to the report. He scanned it one more time before standing resolutely and marching towards the door. He called for a staff meeting, and thirty minutes later the entirety of the outpost staff were crammed into the dining hall. It was nearing dinnertime anyway, so no one was truly troubled by their captain calling them in. Perhaps they would even get dinner served earlier than usual and be excused from returning to work. Ren swallowed heavily as he heard a couple different groups of men suggest that same theory to each other. They most definitely were  _not_ going to like his announcement.

"Alright," He called loudly over the controlled roar of the dining hall. The men immediately quieted down, curious about why their captain had called then in. "Evening, men. I'll make this short and sweet so you can get to eating." There was a rumble of approval at his words. "I received a report today from Eyal informing me that we are falling behind in production in our region. We simply don't have enough hands in our mines to produce the amount of minerals we need for our quota. So," Ren swallowed as he hesitated with his words. "Starting tomorrow, I'll be organizing shifts among you all to help out –" There was an immediate uproar. Ren raised his voice to call over the din. "In the mines for short shifts until we either get back on track or acquire more slave-hands."

"This is ridiculous!" One man called out above the rest.

"That's slave work!" Came another indignant voice.

Ren scowled, twisting his features into an authoritative, intimidating glare. "If we don't improve production, Eyal will shut us down, and you all know what that means. This is the best option I could devise in such a short amount of time, and it is only temporary. If any of you have a better idea, I would love to hear it."

"Make them work harder!" The first man shouted out again, referring to the native Drephesh slaves they kept in the mines. "That have those lazy animals been doing all day?"

"Those 'lazy animals' have been worked to death, and that's why we're in this problem to begin with." Ren countered. "The answer is not longer hours, it's more hands. So this is that we are going until such a time we have enough replacement slaves. This is your captain's decision, and unfortunately for you we do not work in a democracy. The shift will be posted later tonight. First set, be ready to head out after breakfast tomorrow. That is all."

Ren jumped down from the table he'd been standing on and began to march his way out of the commotion. Men were shouting to each other about the injustice of their orders. Ren tried to keep the disgusted sneer from his face. These people had no trouble working slaves to death, but upon being asked to dedicate an hour or two to shoveling rocks because it is  _their job_ , they begin a riot. He swept quickly from the room so as to avoid the confrontational shouts of his staff and, in doing so, did not notice the one member not on his feet and complaining with the rest.

The rat faced man's beady eyes glared at the back of Ren's retreating form. He sat backwards on one of the dinning hall benches, elbows resting on his spread knees. One of the men closest to him seemed to notice his quiet behavior and quickly plopped down next to him, eyeing him curiously. "Whatchu thinking?" He questioned as he flicked his head in the direction their captain had just disappeared in.

Rat-Face didn't turn to look at him as he replied. He wrung his fingers together as he though, slow, calculating twists of his hands. "I'm thinking," He finally said in a slow, measured voice that almost got lost in the roar of the crowd. "That this is the last piece of proof I need to support my theory."

"And what's that?" Another man jumped down to join their quiet conversation. Rat-Face glanced at him for a second, his dark eyes alight with a determined plan.

"Don't you see it? Elongating our hours, cutting down on our fair share of the profit from those two slaves, sending us to work in the mines like some common pack animals while he sits all comfy in his office?" He pinned them both with a purposeful glare. "He's trying to turn us into them, make us his own platoon of personal  _slaves_."

One of the men was shaking his head. "Naw, the captain might be making some pretty atrocious decisions, but he wouldn't turn his own fellow Drephesh into slaves for his own benefit."

"Why not?" Rat-Face asked. "After all, that's what we did, only to the natives. And you can't tell me you think the captain actually acts like a real Drephesh." He stood up suddenly and the now five or so men listening to him seemed to jump back with surprise. "I don't know what he is or what he's doing, and it doesn't entirely matter. All that does matter is we need  _Captain Ren_ out of here for the good of the company…and we should do our part as respectable employees to help make him disappear."

* * *

Bachir narrated notes and comments to his slave as he observed 305 sprinting full speed against the moving runway. Numerous wires had been attached to it, reading its heart rate and respiration, speed and stamina, on the various machines. It had been running for a long time, far longer than Bachir had expected it to. He had given 305 the rest of the day off after it's visit with Vadim as it's reward and the slave was already beginning to look well again. It still clutched at it's side occasionally, making it's running awkward and inconstant, but the slight limp he had noticed from before was gone and most of the cuts and bruises were healed beyond the usual abilities of Vadim's stolen magic cream. Bachir made a mental note to include it's intriguing healing ability in it's sales chart. No doubt someone would pay well in the future for a slave they could punish if needed and still put back to work the next day without worrying about it being inhibited by its injuries.  _Every little penny_ , he mused as he smiled at the thought of the fat commission check he could receive from this one.  _Attractive, clever, surprisingly strong, quick rehabilitator,_ Bachir checked it's traits off with a little 'ch-ching' sound in his head.

His trainee did appear to be an excellent specimen. Bachir was still not completely convinced it was broken – occasionally he would notice a slight smirk on it's face, would see it make blatant eye contact with other guards when it thought he wasn't looking, and it's overall posture and demeanor seemed in contradiction to the cowering, pleading, broken form it had taken on previously. But that hardly mattered, it was not necessary for it to be completely broken, just submissive enough. There were buyers out there who preferred to break them themselves, anyway. And it's other attributes made it a worthy subject.

The day before they had done some simply categorization tests. He had asked it about it's previous training and servitude, to which it steely replied that it had none, and then they went on to press it about it's skills. Cooking? House work? Animal care? Military (to which it's brown eyes widened and it quickly ducked it's head and whispered 'yes')? Building? Manual labor? Sexual labor? Education?

The last one had had the most intriguing answer. The creature was clearly very well educated and versed in many different areas of practice. Whatever it had been before, it was not a simpleton and had not come from inane origins such as many of the other slaves captured and sent here. Bachir could tell from the small devilish glint in its brown eyes that there was knowledge in there that had hardly yet seen a parallel. Perhaps the Academy would be interested in its mind, to see how it works, pull secrets and inventions out of it such as they had done with the oil. Who knows how this thing could better the Drephesh cause?

Since then they had moved on to physical training. Weights, cardio, health analysis. It had amazingly sharp reflexes, reacting so quickly and fluidly to some situations it led Bachir to wonder if it had enhanced senses as well. He had heard of creatures who can predict events before they happen, spot a bee from a hundred yards away, even a legend of two about beings who could slow down time with a mere thought. He found these accounts to be absolute rubbish, a child's fantasy story about superpowers, but 305 made him stop and think. Could something like this, as remarkable as it could be, cause a serious problem in it's sale?

The main problem, however, had come with the emotional analysis. Bachir had already known it was stubborn – it had taken six and a half days to semi-break it, anyway – but he was amazed to discover how much pain and guilt lay beneath it's surface, crippling it for many duties it might need to perform in the future. Bachir acknowledged that he'd been wrong; this thing already was broken, just not in the way he had wanted. How could a slave so destroyed from the inside manage to excel in it's commands? It was distracted, volatile, compromised.

"I have seen this many times before," Vadim informed the keeper as he waited on stand-by incase the slave needed medical attention during the rigorous training. One of the moderators prompted it to continue running faster with a jab of the electric prod. He winced as the creature's face screwed up in pain, but it continued running, distress and exhaustion evident in it's features. How long had it been running now? Two hours straight?

"Have you?" Bachir finally replied without taking his eyes off the chart he snatched from his slave. He scribbled down a few notes about his subject as he attempted to ignore the doctor's presence.

Vadim checked 305's readings from a separate computer, frowning slightly at the irregularity of the hearts beats. "Yes…Both first-hand and second-hand, as a matter of fact, although not quite at the level of this poor creature." He watched Bachir until the keeper finally glanced up from his notes. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow, urging Vadim to get on with his observation. A small smile pulled at Vadim's lip as he announced, "It's fighting heart break, Bachir."

The keeper laughed, a loud, cruel laugh that caused his slave to jump and move away from fear. His eyes went back to the chart. "I appreciate your help, Vadim, but you're a medical doctor, not a psychologist."

"Yes, you're correct about that," Vadim laughed lightly. "But I know the symptoms when I see them. I, too, lost my mate, remember?" Bachir grunted in acknowledgement. "And the only way I have managed to be a functioning member of this facility and not a heart wretched, mourning old fool is because I was able to come to terms with what transpired." He could hear Bachir's teeth grinding in annoyance as he thrust the chart into his slave's chest. Vadim quickly grabbed the keeper's arm before he could turn away and fixed him with a meaningful glare. "Closure, Bachir." He said. "The creature needs closure with it and it's mate's fate."

Bachir rolled his orange eyes. "And what is this closure supposed to do to help, doctor?"

"You are having trouble with its training, that much I can tell from the few conversations I have had with it. It is still acting troublesome, still acting unruly when it believes no one is looking. It is behaving in this way because it fears for it's mate. The last they saw of each other was on the transport shuttle where it nearly died, and it woke up with no knowledge of her well-being. It's scared and still looking for it's mate, fighting for her, and it will continue this behavior until it sees that there is nothing left to fight over."

"Are you suggesting we kill the female simply to crush his spirit?" Bachir chuckled disbelievingly. There was no way that would ever become an option. Pure humans were nearly impossible to come by this far out, particularly pure female humans, and from his knowledge they were already expecting to bring in a hefty profit from the female's eventual sale. They would not sacrifice that for an unidentified, untrained, uncategorized slave boy.

Vadim, however, was shaking his head. "It does not take such drastic measures, Bachir. But then again, your talents have never been with subtlety. And besides –" He glanced back at 305, still sprinting with the obvious signs of exhaustion and dehydration evident in each stride. "– It has been well behaved enough during the testing, has it not? Perhaps it deserves a reward for its cooperation. Even a dog needs to be praised every once and a while to keep it loyal."

* * *

The Doctor ran. He ran harder and faster and longer than any time he could ever remember. What were they trying to do to him? Destroy him? Run him until his legs ended in bloody stumps where his feet had been worn completely off? Any minute now he was sure his shin bones would simply snap in half. Or maybe his lungs would stop expanding and taking in oxygen (he already felt as if there was not as much air in the room as there should be). Or maybe his hearts would decide to take a breather and stop beating all together.

Was that their plan? Were they already so unsatisfied with his training that they have given up and decided to dispose of him, force him to run till his body shuts down and make it look like an unfortunate training accident? Why were they already so dissatisfied? He had been so good – well, as good as the Doctor was ever going to be – following his keeper's orders, playing along with their tests and their attempts to categorize him. Why was it already decided that he was worth less than the effort to keep him, (barely) feed him, and then package him up and ship him off to some other world of torture and loneliness for a quick dollar? Was he really so worthless that they couldn't even bother to try to sell him?

"AGH!" The Doctor's body arched with pain and he nearly fell from the treadmill. He glared hatefully at the man who'd pressed the cattle prod to his side. He hadn't slowed down, he was sure of it. No matter how exhausted he was, he'd rather run through the pain than be electrocuted again. The man smiled cruelly and twirled the prod over in his hand.

This hadn't started off so bad at first. In fact, he actually preferred this to the demeaning questions, physical examinations, and uncomfortable psychological analysis' he'd been plagued with the last two days. He was running again. He'd always loved the running. And after weeks of being cramped up in a tiny cage, dragged everywhere by the unhelpful guards, finally being able to stretch his legs had been a blessing. But half an hour had been plenty for his liking. Two hours later, he was beginning to regret his earlier joy for it. He was dehydrated, malnourished, injured, and Bachir  _knew_ all that. He had  _caused_ all that. So why was he still making him go?

He couldn't stop though; if he did he would be shocked, he would be punished. It wasn't as though he feared the punishment – he'd certainly had worse before – but it was just easier to keep running, and the shocks were an unnecessarily painful nuisance. There was no harm in running, no real reason to resist. In some small corner of his mind, a voice yelled at him, appalled at the thought of giving these slavers what they wanted. It screamed at him to fight back, to protest, to do anything and everything in his power to keep them from seeing him broken.

But he was getting tired…so, so tired. And he still didn't have Rose…

He was drenched in sweat and his vision was beginning to blur. All he could see was the boring white wall in front of him as his vision tunneled. His breaths had turned into gasps, his lungs burning in his chest, his hearts beat valiantly, but they were all unable to keep up. His exhaustion was catching up to him. He felt himself slow down by a fraction of a mile per hour. Just a fraction. But that was enough to make the machine  _beep_ , telling the moderators that the speed had dipped below the allowed pace. The Doctor's hearts seized in terrified anticipation.  _No_. He tried to speed back up, but it was too late. The machine had tattled on him. He saw the prod being raised out of the corner of his eye and reacted out of instinct.

He jumped to the side, out of the way of the biting metal prongs, and collided with the side railing. His ankle twisted violently as he set it down wrong, catching on the speeding revolving surface of the treadmill, and he stumbled. The treadmill swept his feet out from under him and he went down gracelessly. The metal railing around the machine slammed into his nose as he fell and warm, sticky blood instantly began to run over his lips and down his chin. The unfazed moving surface rolled him backwards off the machine, where he was deposited in a crumbled heap at the end of the line. He gasped at how quickly it all happened and blood flowed unpleasantly into his gaping, gasping mouth.

"You clumsy animal!" The moderator snarled, advancing quickly on the Doctor's crumpled form. "Getting your filthy blood all over our expensive equipment! Get up!"

He slammed the prod into the Doctor's side. He cried out as the electricity drove the small amount of breath from his lungs. He rolled onto his stomach and just barely managed to push himself to his knees and elbows, wincing for his twisted ankle, preparing to push his sore body the rest of the way up, when the prod pressed into his side again. He screamed, the current painfully vibrating the recently healed bones in his ribs. He collapsed back to the ground where the moderator shocked him again.

"GET UP!"

"I can't." The Doctor panted breathlessly. The moderator glared down at him reproachfully.

"Excuse me?"

"I said…I can't!" The Doctor snarled as best he could but it still came out disjointed and weak. "Not if…I'm constantly…being p…pushed…back down."

The moderator knelt down and grabbed the front of the Doctor's sweat-soaked shirt, jerking him up so he was forced to look directly at him. The Doctor averted his eyes automatically as he'd trained himself to do over the last two days, but the moderator shook him roughly until he had no choice but to meet his gaze. For some reason the Doctor began to feel anxious. This was a bad thing. He shouldn't be doing this. But why not?

"You can and you will." The moderator growled into his face. "You'll run until your keeper tells you otherwise, as you will with everything else he instructs, because things like you are incapable of thinking for yourselves, so someone must graciously offer to do it for you. Now get up and keep running, the test isn't over."

The Doctor laughed, a short, wispy laugh that got lost in his desperate gasps for air. His hearts were still hammering and lungs still aching. But he managed to huff, "I'm p-perfectly cap…capable of thinking…for myself…thanks. And I t-think…this test is over."

The moderator released his hold on the Doctor's shirt and the Time Lord fell with a thud back onto his back, groaning as what little air he had managed to regain was driven from his lungs once again. He didn't get a chance to suck it back in, however, as electricity instantly surge through him. He jerked and writhed on the floor until he was finally released. His vision had become so spotted and dark he was sure he was going to pass out at any moment and he welcomed it. Maybe he would wake up back in his cage where he could relax and sleep and lick his wounds from another day of training.

But fate would not have it so. Just as the moderator brought the cattle prod down for another strike, the door to the observation and reading room opened and Bachir and the medic strode towards them. "Alright, that's enough." Bachir's commanding voice halted the moderator mid-jab, the teeth of the prod just inches from the Doctor's heaving chest. "You don't have to torture the poor creature, it's clearly not strong enough."

The Doctor should have been insulted by the statement, but instead he was just relieved. Why was he so relieved?  _Because Bachir's safe,_  some part of the Doctor thought. He knew what the keeper wanted, it was always made clear to him and they had always been within his physical ability; he could obey those commands easily without fear.

The moderator backed off, grumbling something about insubordination. Bachir came forward until he was standing directly over the Doctor and watched his ward down the ridges of his nose. "On your feet, 305."

He didn't threaten him, kick him, shock him, or even seem to rush him. The Doctor rolled over and pushed himself to his knees slowly, carefully, one leg and then the other, before struggling the rest of the way up. He hurt all over and his vision swam dangerously. He finally managed to get all the way up to his feet when the world suddenly tilted and one of his knees collapsed out from under him. With faster reflexes than the Doctor thought he'd have, Bachir grabbed him before he could fall, wrapping one arm around the Doctor's waist to hold him up. Then he was half-dragged across the room and dropped onto a metal bench where he fell gratefully back against the wall.

Bachir shoved something into his limp hand. "Drink this." He ordered and the Doctor complied without thought. There was no time for thought or reasoning. Things like reasons and questions had started to slip away, his mind moving sluggishly. He nearly cried out with joy as he realized the liquid he was being forced to drink was water. Cool, sweet, refreshing water that eased his dry mouth and aching throat. He wanted to chug the entire thing right then and there, but suddenly it was jerked out of his hand. He whimpered in protest.

"Don't drink so fast or you'll be sick, and then I wouldn't be able to give you your reward."

The Doctor frowned. "My…reward?" Why would he be getting a reward? He'd fallen off the treadmill, interrupted the test, disobeyed an order, talked back, made eye-contact. Everything he'd been warned so many times through pain to avoid. Nothing added up to him deserving a reward.

But this time Bachir ignored him like he was nothing. He was nothing.  _No, I'm something!_ Part of him argued but, like everything else going on in his mind, it was also ignored. Right now, the Doctor didn't have to think, all he had to do was lean back against the wall and catch his breath and wonder with a generous amount of worry what this 'reward' of his might entail.


	21. Chapter 21

"This is ridiculous, Bachir!"

The Doctor perked up as he heard the unfamiliar voice shouting at his keeper from the hallway. He was slouched against the wall of a new room they had dragged him to, resting his head on his knees and attempting to relax before the disturbance had interrupted him. He was still exhausted from all the running earlier that day, but they had fed him and given him water and he was already beginning to feel less fatigued. He longed to sleep again and restore his strength completely, but he was afraid of the consequences of falling asleep during training. He was sure they wouldn't be enjoyable. And no doubt he would never get this mysterious reward Bachir had mentioned…

The Doctor was, of course, nervous. Again he questioned  _why_ he would be receiving a reward at all. He was only doing the bare minimum to keep from being punished, and yet here he was, awaiting his prize. He shuddered slightly as he thought of the numerous different implications of the word 'reward'; it could be completely sincere or devastatingly sinister. He'd been too worn out after the treadmill incident to properly evaluate Bachir's mood and figure out what his own connotation was, but he didn't  _seem_ ominous about it. But the fact still remained that the Doctor knew he didn't  _deserve_ a proper reward.

He could hear footsteps coming down the hallway now, moving towards the room he was being kept in. The room was not unlike the 'training' room he had become accustom to during his first conscious week here, but there was a definite lack of red stains on the floor, which helped to settle the Doctor's initial anxiety. As the footsteps grew closer – he counted three pairs all together – he could hear the unfamiliar voice speak up again.

"I'm in the middle of a dosage trial with 258, you can't just interrupt this process because you're feeling sentimental."

Bachir's commanding voice answered back and the Doctor resisted the urge to curl up further against the wall. "Your little girl's training can wait ten minutes. 258 is no where near as valuable as this one could possibly be. I need it compliant."

"It's human!" The first voice shouted in frustration. "Do you know how rare it is to find a human of her appeal this far out? And you think it's not valuable?"

The Doctor used the wall behind him to help push himself up. His breath hitched, but not from the throbbing pain coming from his injured ankle as he set weight on it. The three pairs of footsteps stopped before his door, two heavy sets and one smaller, lighter, inconsistent one, as if the owner was stumbling. Even despite that, he knew he recognized those footsteps, like he'd heard them every day padding down the halls of the TARDIS or racing with him away from some sort of danger right at his heels. Did he really dare to believe what he was hearing?

The other man was speaking again, his annoyed voice sounding slightly muffled coming through the door. "I've already administered the injection, I have to observe its reaction."

"It takes ten minutes for the effects to completely develop, and unless you want me to inform Vadim that you're exceeding his dosage recommendation, I suggest you shut the hell up and stop complaining." Bachir snapped back as he suddenly threw the door open. The Doctor shifted slightly backwards in surprise, his back pressed up against and supported by the wall. He hardly even had time to register the aggravated scowl on the Drephesh standing behind his keeper when someone was shoved through the doorway, stumbling backwards as the door was slammed shut in her face, blonde hair splaying out behind her.

The universe froze. The air had been sucked completely from the room. The Doctor opened his mouth to speak, but for once no words came out. He was too stunned. His mind whirled as she stood there, still facing the door, her back to him, unmoving. The Doctor found he couldn't move either, for some reason, held stuck in place by the immensity of his 'reward'. Finally he managed to reach into the reserves of air trapped within his lungs and breathed out in one desperate gasp.

" _Rose?_ "

Her head twitched to the side slightly, following the direction of his voice. She went to turn and the Doctor saw what was about to happen almost too late. Her movements were uncharacteristically choppy, disjointed, and when she went to turn her left leg moved but her right did not. Her toes caught on her other ankle and she couldn't balance it out. She staggered, trying to right herself, but that movement seemed to only throw her off more as she tripped, not even bothering to throw out her hands to break the fall.

The Doctor moved faster than he thought possible in his current condition. One moment his Rose was falling towards the ground on the other side of the room, and the next he was catching her under the arm, falling to his own knees in order to keep her from striking the ground. He held her against his chest as she began to struggle weakly, a faint whimper escaping her lips as she tried feebly to wiggle out of his grasp.

He just held her closer, not willing to let her go, not after all of this. "Shh…." He breathed comfortingly into her ear, "It's alright, Rose, It's me. I've got you. I've got you…"

She slowly stopped her weak attempts to get away and just fell limply in the Doctor's arms. He hugged her closer for a split second before helping her to sit up, running a hand alone her cheek and into her blonde hair as she sat there unresponsively. It was as if she hadn't entirely registered he was there.

Her eyes were closed lightly, like she wasn't bothered enough to open them, and the Doctor suddenly realized how desperate he was to see those kind brown orbs once more, to remind him that there is still good and kindness in the universe. "Rose, please, look at me."

After a moment she finally responded, blinking her eyes open slowly. She frowned, eyes zooming in and out of focus as they tried to zero-in on the Doctor's face. It felt like an eternity before she finally opened her mouth and whispered a soft and slurred, "Docta?"

The Doctor felt as though he could do twelve back flips in a row, resisting the urge to punch the air as Rose showed some kind of awareness, some kind of recognition. He fought back the tears of joy threatening to blur the sight of his human companion as he pulled her into another embrace. This time she responded, clumsily wrapping her arms around his torso and leaning her head against his chest, breathing in deeply. The Doctor honestly didn't know if he'd be able to release her from their embrace ever again. Two and a half weeks. Two and a half weeks he'd been worried sick about her, imagining the worst, fighting to find her, submitting to find her, and here she was, back in his arms.

He heard a sniff and a gasp and realized Rose was beginning to sob lightly into his shirt. "Hey, shh," He pushed her softly from his chest so they could see each other's faces again, and that was when he noticed it. Her eyes. Yes, they were still brown and kind and everything that was beautiful in the universe, but now they were dulled, a thin layer of mist hanging over them and they didn't seem capable of focusing on any one thing. They kept sliding in and out of clarity as if she were grasping for reality and slipping from its slick handlebars. He leaned in close to her neck and sniffed her skin, smelling for the blood running in the main arteries along her throat. He cringed as he smelt the foreign substance in her veins. She was drugged.

He pulled away sharply so he could look her over, search for any other signs of abuse, but she quickly grabbed his wrist, dragging him back to her. "P-please. Don't l-l-leave me." She begged in a broken whisper.

"Oh, Rose," He leaned his forehead against hers, his right hand wrapped around the back of her neck. "I'm never going to leave you. I never could."

She dragged in a sobbing breath. "Then w-where have you b-been? You l-l-left me here. You – al-lone – I…" Her words became disjointed as she hung her head. The Doctor couldn't breathe. His hearts were jammed up in his throat, cutting off all his air and words. He pulled Rose close, kissing her on the top of the head with more force then he intended, but he couldn't help it. He had to assert he was there. She was there. They were together again and – _Rassilon,_ why did his hearts hurt so much?

"Listen to me," He demanded softly, speaking into her hair. "I wouldn't leave you, I could  _never_ leave you. I found you again, I'm right here, we're together, and I'm never going to let you go again."

She hiccupped adorably into his shoulder. "I t-th-thought you were…I s-saw you on the f-floor of the sh-ship… I thought….and th-then I didn't see you…and they w-wouldn't t-t-tell me anything…"

"Shhhhh, Rose, please. I'm fine. I'm right here." He kept repeating because he wasn't sure how much she was able to believe it. He could smell the drug on her but was unable to pinpoint exactly what the concoction was or what it was for. But he could feel her slipping away from him and he had to ground her back to reality. "I'm going to get us out of here. I don't know how yet, but I will. We've been in worse pickles, eh? You and me. We can do this, right Rose?"

"We can…we can use…" Her words were almost inaudible. And then suddenly she giggled, the corners of her lips pulling up into a distracted smile. "…h-horses…" She giggled again before her face instantly fell into a frown. Her eyes screwed shut once again as she muttered, "No…no, please. I don't want to…"

"Rose?"

She began struggling again, trying to wiggle her way out of the Doctor's arms, her face contorted in fear. "No. Please. Please."

"Rose, what's wrong?"

"I don't want to."

"I know, I know." The Doctor didn't know, but he was at a loss of whatever else he could do. Tears were stinging across Rose's cheeks as she shook her head. "Don't worry, you don't have to." Whatever it was. "You don't have to."

"Please…" He thought she whispered, but it sounded more like a gust of air falling from her lips. Her body felt like it was turning to dough in his arms, his embrace becoming the only thing holding her up anymore.

"Rose?" The Doctor begged, but she was drifting further away, slipping from him.

"Doc….tor? I –" She sighed sadly before her head lolled backwards on her neck, her whole body going completely limp.

The Doctor panicked, his hearts racing and threatening to choke him. "Rose!" He shouted as he senselessly shook her shoulders, desperate for her to come back to him. He had just found her, just got her back. She couldn't leave him so soon, not like this. He barely noticed the geyser of tears finally falling down his face as he pulled her unresponsive body closer to his, begging for her to come back to him. She didn't, but the Doctor stammered in relief as he felt her heart beating steadily within her chest. He pulled her mouth close to his ear and heard her weak, irregular breathing, but it was there, steady enough. He lowered her carefully back to the ground, laying her down on her back and tilting her head up to open her airways further.

He shuddered then as he saw for the first time the dark purple bruising around her throat, clearly finger-shaped bruises forming against her pale skin. He simmered with anger and disgust as he noticed similarly horrible bruises around her wrists and upper arms. He stood, no longer feeling the pain in his ankle, and ran a hand through his matted hair, ruffling it like a cat sticking up the fur on its back, turned, paced, paused, looked down at Rose's unconscious form, and then stormed towards the door.

He slammed his fist against it, hard, rattling the metal. He pounded against it repeatedly, the sound echoing through their small room. He snarled, feeling the storm building up inside him, unable and unwilling to be contained. "What did you do to her?!" He shouted through the door desperately.

Suddenly the door was thrown open and before the Doctor could adjust to the change a fist was slammed into his abdomen. He doubled over, winded and shocked, as a guard grabbed him by the shoulders and instantly threw him against a wall, pinning him to it with an arm to his throat. He froze as two more men swarmed through the door, one being his keeper and the other was a man he was unfamiliar with but who he instantly loathed upon sight. He began to struggle against the guard as the strange keeper went to Rose's side and pressed a finger to her throat, feeling for a pulse. Even unconscious Rose still flinched away from his touch.

"Get away from her!" The Doctor yelled, earning him another blow to his side. He staggered as his injured ribs screaming in discomfort but was held in place by the guard's unyielding hand.

The two keepers ignored him, kneeling beside the unconscious human. "This is exactly why I needed to keep an eye on it." The stranger snapped at Bachir. "Do you understand the damage your damn reunion may have caused to it?"

"Oh, calm yourself, Malex, it'll be fine. It hardly needs a mind to do what you're going to be selling it for, anyways."

Malex growled. "Even a sex-slave needs to be able to think, Bachir. Brain-dead, how will it be able to perform up to standard?"

The Doctor felt his blood run cold. He stood against the wall, anger and hatred at such a level he felt a bizarre serenity wash over him, like the calm before the storm. His chest rose and fell from the immense effort of holding it all in as he glared at the stranger. The room cackled with the electricity of his hatred, enough to finally draw the attention of the two keepers. "You touch her one more time," The Doctor growled threateningly, his voice low as it came through his clenched teeth. "I will rip your head off your shoulders and feed it to a Sarlacc."

Malex glanced up at him for a moment before laughing and turning back to Rose. "Perhaps you should try training your creature some manners." He suggested condescendingly to Bachir, who rolled his eyes and glared with his fiery orange eyes at his trainee.

"Oh, don't worry," He replied sinisterly. "It'll get its lesson."

The Doctor lifted his chin defiantly, meeting his keeper's eye. He knew he'd regret it later, but he couldn't help it. Something about Rose kindled the fire within him, and now it was roaring, raging, consuming his self-control and burning it to ashes. Instinct was all that survived the flames.

Malex seemed satisfied with the pulse he found and instead let his fingers drift over the skin on Rose's delicate neck, tracing down her collar bone and brushing across one of her breasts over the fabric of her shirt. "Yes…everything is still good." He moaned happily.

And that was it for the Doctor. The fire became lightning as he struck out at the guard, grabbing the arm pinning him to the wall and twisting it, hearing the satisfying  _snap_ of the bone rupturing. The guard howled in pain as he retracted his broken arm and the Doctor quickly brought his knee up into his stomach before taking hold of the guard's head and slamming it,  _hard,_  into the wall. The guard crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

It had all happened so fast the two keepers hadn't even had time to register what was happening before the Doctor launched himself at them. He ignored Bachir, just as the keeper had always ignored him as if he were nothing, and slammed into Malex. The force of it sent them flying into the opposite wall, the keeper gasping in surprise. That would be his last breath as the Doctor wound his fingers around the keeper's throat, tightening his hold until Malex gurgled desperately for air. "I told you not to touch her." The Doctor growled into the man's ear as his grip tightened even more. He was going to strangle the man, tear his head off like he had promised. He was a warrior, a soldier, a killer, a murderer…

_No._

The Doctor stumbled backwards, releasing his hold on Malex's throat. The keeper slid to the ground, gasping and clutching at his bruise windpipe as the Doctor stared down at him, eyes wide with disbelief at what he had been about to do. He couldn't. He couldn't do it, not anymore. He was already guilty enough, the pressure of it threatening to implode his soul with every breath, he could not afford to add more blood to the mix.

He wasn't given a chance to consider it any longer as agonizing pain laced up and down his body. He crashed to his knees, then to his side, as the prod was held against his skin, sending wave after wave of misery through the Time Lord. He writhed on the floor, his already overly-abused body wanting to give up, as he shouted and screamed through the pain. How long were they going to hold it against him? It had already been a century, he was sure of it, but the pain kept coming, unrelenting. Darkness edged closer. The pain stopped but he was only minutely aware of it. More pain exploded for a mere second in his head as something – a boot? – collided with it, sending him down that final stretch into darkness.

Bachir scowled down at the pathetic form of the slave, curled up around itself as electricity continued to course through its body. He dropped the prod where it clattered against the tiled floor and turned back to Malex. The other keeper had managed to pull himself to his feet, still breathless with a hand still massaging the skin on his throat. "Are you okay?" Bachir asked.

Malex snarled savagely. "That  _thing_ nearly killed me! How dare it touch me like that."

"It's alright, I've handled it." Bachir tried to reassure him, but Malex just glowered at him before sending his boot flying into the side of the limp slave. It didn't even respond, but somehow it made the keeper feel better.

"Handle it!?" Malex nearly shouted. "I know how you can handle it! Put the damn thing down. It's dangerous, volatile, not worth your damn time to train and you know it. Just dispose of it, Bachir, or I will."

"Control yourself, Malex!" Bachir barked back, kneeling down to check his own ward's pulse. He frowned before remembering the thing had two hearts, and therefore the quickened, double-beating of its pulse was normal.  _What are you?_ He asked himself for what felt like the hundredth time that day. He stood and faced the fuming keeper again. "Look passed your own training biases and think about what you just saw." Malex scoffed and so Bachir pushed on. "Those lightning quick reflexes, the way it made that guard look like a toddler going up against a bear, someone will pay good money for that. A war lord, a gambler in the fighting rings. I'm not going to eliminate that possibility by wasting this thing."

Malex laughed harshly. "And I'll be saying 'I told you so' to your grave when the thing finally turns on you. Until then, keep it away from my trainee.  _This one,_ at least, will pull in something more than a meat-packers wallet." He looked down one more time at the male's body with disgust and sneered. "Or maybe it needs a trainer who is actually able to break it, run it into the ground. You're losing your touch, Bachir."

Bachir turned away, eyeing his ward with a similar look of antipathy as the other keeper had, considering his words and accepting it as a challenge. "Don't worry, Malex. I'll make sure the thing regrets it even looked at your shoes today."


	22. Chapter 22

The drug-induced haze shimmered around her as she slowly floated to the surface once more. She didn't want to open her eyes; she's been dreaming. The best dream she'd had in a long, long time. She wanted to go back to it, back to him, but the call of consciousness was getting too strong to avoid now. Her tongue felt thick and cottony in her mouth and she longed for something to drink almost more than she wanted to go back to the dream.

Awareness rose with her and she suddenly realized she was lying on something soft and actually comfortable. She felt herself frown as her fingers performed lazy circles on the soft material beneath her, trying to decipher what it was. But before she could figure it out some invisible force seized the back of her throat, trailing its fingers over the torturously sensitive area and causing her to gag and cough. The coughing came out harsh and dry and only seemed to hurt her throat even more. She sprang up into a sitting position as she clutched at her chest, eyes watering from the assault.

Something was pressed against her lips and her head was tilted back as something cool slid into her mouth. It trickled down her throat and instantly eased the aching.

"That's it, just keep drinking." A voice said beside her. Rose gulped desperately at the water as she realized what it was, hardly even registering who was encouraging her. Malex watched his trainee with stony, impassive eyes as her body stopped convulsing from the coughs. But once she finally peeled her eyes open, his own took on a kind, sympathetic look that had certainly not been there moments before.

With a start, Rose suddenly realized how close he was sitting to her and jumped backwards, sliding a few inches up the soft surface. Malex gently placed a hand on the small of her back and kept her from going any further. He glanced over her for once without a hunger in his eyes, but rather concern. "Are you alright, 258?"

Rose sat frozen for a moment, staring at him, before slowly nodding her head. The movement caused a spot just above her brow to sear and ache, and the bruised skin around her throat strained as it was pulled. But she nodded anyway. Because that was what he wanted to see.

" _Don't let them hurt you if they don't have to. Don't give them an excuse. Just cooperate and be okay."_

She had tried to follow the Doctor's orders. Those were some of the last words he said to her so very, very long ago on that transport ship, right before he was poisoned and left convulsing on the ground at her feet. She had never felt such fear as she had then. He was dying, she was sure of it. She could see it in his face, in the way his body writhed unrestricted, in how he breathed out her name as he finally fell motionless, as if it were the last thought that would ever drift across his brilliant mind. She was lost and alone and so scared, but she stuck to his words, for he had never led her astray before.  _Except for getting me stuck in here._

Rose shook her head as that thought cut across her mind like a poisonous snake. This wasn't the first time that horrible thought had reared its ugly head. She didn't want to blame the Doctor for getting her into this situation…but sometimes she simply couldn't help it.

"Well? Which is it?" Malex snapped when Rose began to shake her head.

She swallowed heavily passed the lump in her dry throat before replying, "I'm fine." Even her words sounded scratchy and she resisted the urge to massage her neck. Why did her neck hurt so much?

Malex seemed pleased enough with the weak response. He lifted both her hands so he could examine her wrists, which were now a bluish-yellow color from bruising. Rose frowned. She couldn't remember where those bruises came from. "Did he hurt you anywhere else?"

Rose canted her head to the side. "Hurt me…? Who?"

Malex raised his eyebrows and sneered, "That monster you call your mate. Do you not remember?"

Rose's heart pounded in her chest. Her breath hitched slightly in her lungs as she almost looked up into her keeper's face, looking for acknowledgement that what he said was real, but quickly let her eyes fall to a spot on his chest. "The Doctor? We…we saw him? He – what?"

"Yes, your glorified physician." Malex rolled his eyes. "You really don't remember?

We crossed him in one of the training rooms last night and he attacked you. Strangled you till you were unconscious. If we hadn't pulled him off, there is no doubt in my mind he would have killed you."

She raised a hand almost absentmindedly to her throat, pressing in lightly and feeling the bruises against her skin. She could imagine hands around her neck, squeezing, pressing, but they weren't  _his_ hands. She knew the Doctor's hands, and it wasn't –  _couldn't_ – have been his. She began to shake her head assertively, brow furrowed. "No. No, he wouldn't do that. Not to me."

"He had his hands around your throat, had you pinned against a wall. He tried to  _rape_  you and hurt you so badly you can't even remember."

"No, you don't understand." Rose countered, but her voice wavered with uncertainty as the bruises pulled at her skin as she spoke. "That not 'im. That's not the Doctor. He could never –"

"Think back, 258 – " _My name is Rose,_ she thought automatically as she had trained herself to do from the beginning, not wanting to forget who she was. "– Try to think to last night. That monster was there." Rose did try to think back and find proof of her keeper's lies. Everything was hazy. She couldn't remember anything concrete, but rather colors and shapes and sounds. She remembered unkempt brown hair, a figure in the same gray outfit as herself, a voice floating in and out of clarity, distinctly familiar, so very much  _him._ " _Let you go …get us out…shh…rip your head off your shoulders!"_

Rose flinched violently as she heard him shout in her mind. " _Rip your head off your shoulders!"_ She remembered hearing it as if from a disembodied voice, but the memory was too disjointed to put all the pieces back together. She hoped she had just imagined it. Could he…could he really possibly have been talking to her?

Against her will, her eyes began to well up with unshed tears. She was too exhausted for this situation, her mind still too fuzzy. Malex watched on with convincing sympathy in his eyes as she squirmed and shook her head. "He wouldn't…"

"But he did." His voice was forceful as he took her by the shoulders, hands squeezing almost painfully, possessively. "Because he's a monster, 258. The training changes you, and sometimes for the worst, bringing out the primal, violent creatures within. That is what you've been resisting for, a monster who wanted to rape and kill you upon sight. At least what I have to offer proposes a life of luxury."

"Luxury?" Rose eventually scoffed at the word. "You're tryin' to sell me as a slave! What luxury is in that!"

"More luxury than is in death, 258." She hated when he called her by her number. That, more than his words and treatment towards her, made her feel as low as the dirt on the floor, and just as worthless. "Stop resisting my training and help me help you find an owner who will care for you in the way you deserve." His hand was suddenly cupping her cheek, thumb running over her jaw line and brushing away the stray tears of confusion and fear. "Promise me you will forget that creature you came here with, who tried to violate you in the most gruesome way, and way I have never, nor will I ever, allow. I will find you an owner who knows your value when he sees it, but I will need your help and cooperation in doing so."

Rose had hardly listened to his words. Her thoughts were too far away, in a memory she didn't even possess. The Doctor's body crushed against hers, a hard surface behind her, pressure tightening around her throat, darkness, his angry voice. She heard her keeper ask something, his words kind and gentle but insistent, and she found herself nodding her head instinctively. Then his thumb ran over her cheek once more and she was drawn back to the adoring look in his eye.

"Thank you." He said before swooping down and gently pressing his lips to hers, lightly, like the brush of a feather. Rose didn't react. He stood up then, telling her to get some rest and that she had work to do later, and she couldn't resist the lure of sleep. She let herself lie down on the merciful soft surface and was asleep again by the time her eyes closed. And as a result, she missed the devious sneer on her keepers face as he turned and left her alone.

The door slid shut silently behind him and he came face-to-face with an unamused Vadim. "Well?" He questioned with his arms folded across his chest. Malex smiled again.

"The dosage was too strong for its frail system, true, but it worked stunningly. The pathetic thing doesn't even know what to believe anymore. Congratulations, you are one step closer to synthesizing the manipulation of decision making than any of us previously thought possible, Dr. Vadim."

Malex held out his hand to congratulate him, but Vadim just scowled at it. "I did not invent this serum so that you can manipulate your helpless slaves into believing their will is free. You should not be giving them such hopeless delusions, it's cruelty beyond necessity."

"You should just be grateful it works and that you even have subjects to test it on." Malex snarled back. "After creation, you have no say in how it will be used. That is for the keepers to decide."

Vadim sighed, annoyed, and continued his orange glare even as Malex began to walk away. "What did you tell her, Malex?" He called out before he could help himself

Malex grinned cruelly as he turned down the hall. "Only the worst truth I could conjure."

* * *

_Two Weeks Later_

The tray clattered to the ground with a reverberating  _CRASH_ , echoing off the walls of the empty Doctor stared down in horror at the shattered and spilled remains of his keeper's meal, destroyed by the shards of glass now mixed within the delicious smelling meat and sautéed vegetables. He swallowed as he glanced nervously around before he quickly fell to his knees and began to try and separate out the larger shards.

His stomach flipped over as he was attacked once again by the mouth-watering aroma of the food. It roared desperately for him to steal just a nibble. For days he'd gone without a bite to eat and only water to sustain him. He could feel the weight of his starvation dragging him down, pulling on his limbs, making them heavy and clumsy, resulting in the unfortunate and completely avoidable stumble that had just toppled the keeper's food to the floor.

This was his punishment. Clearly his guilt and desperation and absolute depression upon discovering that he had lost Rose once again, this time for what could very possibly be forever, was not enough punishment in his keeper's eyes. And so his thin, shaking fingers reached gingerly for a piece of the ruined meat, inspecting it carefully as his mouth watered and his stomach growled. The Doctor shuddered through the pain of his gnawing belly before twisting his head, shaking off the weakness. He was a Time Lord, for Rassilon's sake! A little bit of starvation should not faze him in such a way. And yet that, combined with the ever-increasing feeling of dread and despondency, left him shaking and rattled.

He wanted to fight. Oh, Rassilon, he wanted to fight back finally, take what was his, what he deserved as the last of the Time Lords. If these monsters knew what he was, what he was capable of, they would be kneeling before him, cowering at his feet, begging for forgiveness for all they had done to him and his loved ones.

But the fact remained that they didn't know. The results of his DNA reading had still yet to come in, and the Doctor knew it would be even more detrimental to not only his health and safety, but also to Rose's, if they ever discovered who he truly was. And as much as he wanted to, they would never see the Oncoming Storm come back to fruition. He was too exhausted now, worked day and night by Bachir, who seemed to have lost all intention of ever giving his slave rest again. The Doctor did everything for Bachir now, unwillingly, of course, except for for the promises of water and, one day maybe, food. It had gotten to that point where the Doctor could hardly differentiate their demands from his own free-will. There was simply no time or place for such wasted energy on thought. He was already spending it all on staying awake, keeping his feet moving, ignoring the clawing in his stomach.

Thoughts of Rose, thoughts of freedom, thoughts of insubordination had unconsciously been sent to the backburners of his great mind as it began to shut down. He had no need for it, his keeper thought for him, commanded him, instructed him, he no longer needed to think but of how quickly and painlessly he could complete his next task.

 _Stop that!_ The Doctor growled at himself as he carefully piled the largest shards of glass he could find into a reasonably sized stack. The food was now looking less dangerous – though now it also looked even more appetizing to the starving Time Lord – and the Doctor attempted to scoop it all back onto the cracked tray. He would fetch another glass of wine later. For a moment he considered sneaking a piece of the sharp metal into his shirt sleeve, or even into the meat and have Bachir choke on it and cut his throat to ribbons while he stuffed his face and allowed his helpless slaves to starve.

The Doctor shook his head again at this. He regretted greatly that he had not had the guts to go through with strangling Malex as he had promised, but he knew there was no point in attempting to kill his keeper. He would simply be given to another, or even put down (he had already caused them enough trouble as it was). Even though he wouldn't die from it, regenerating in front of all these sadistic bastards would definitely not help his situation. And it would certainly help in narrowing down the list of species he could come from, not to mention give them further reason to harm him even more.  _Science._ No – the Doctor decided, brushing dustings of glass from his fingertips – revenge would simply have to wait.

"What are you doing?" A voice suddenly snarled behind him.

The Doctor scrambled quickly to his feet, holding the tray close to his thin body. He had already lost a lot of weight from his two weeks of forced fasting. Bachir stood in front of him, arms crossed, face twisted into a scowl as he glanced at the jumbled mess of food on the tray.

"I…the tray…" The Doctor stammered before clearing his throat quietly, trying to fight down the spike of nerves assaulting him. "I just tripped. I'm – I'm cleaning it up though."

Bachir stalked forward slowly, scrutinizing the meal with a disgusted sneer. "And were you considering serving this to me?"

The Doctor resisted taking a step backwards. Why was he so weak? He opened his mouth, but for some reason nothing came out, so he closed it and quickly tried again. "N-no, I was just –"

The tray was smacked suddenly from his hands and the Doctor jumped backwards in surprise, inhaling sharply as he nearly stepped down with his bare feet on the pile of broken glass shards. Food remains splattered across his feet and the hateful cold metal band encircling his left ankle. "You clumsy, lying piece of shit." Bachir growled as he advanced on the faintly retreating Time Lord. "Can you even do anything right, you worthless animal?"

The Doctor averted his eyes, bowing his head slightly as the insults washed over him. He didn't respond because he hated the only answer he had to it. Of course he couldn't do anything right. He couldn't even walk across a room without tripping and knocking everything over, it seemed. The fact that he had once saved universes and sent entire armies running at the mere mention of his name seemed laughable now.

 _WHAM!_  Bachir smacked the Doctor out of his reverie. "Answer me!"

The Doctor looked down at his feet again and muttered, "No, sir."

Bachir nodded condescendingly. "Of course not. You pathetic things  _are_ incapable of that, anyway. But let's see whether we can help beat some competency into you." He reached for his comm. device and quickly turned it on, static greeting him for a moment before dissipating. "Guards, would you help me out with teaching a quick lesson?"

The Doctor jerked his head up, fear twinkling lightly in his widened eyes. The door opened behind him and four more guards marched forward, snickering to themselves as they saw the situation. The Doctor immediately attempted to shrug off the hands grabbing at his shoulders, dragging him backwards, and stared pleadingly at his keeper, hating himself even as the word came pouring uncontrollably from his mouth. "No, please. Please, I'm sorry. I'll be good."

"Yes, 305," Bachir replied with a deceivingly kind spark in his orange eyes. "I know you will be." Then he nodded and the guards began to lead the Doctor out of the room. He tried to struggle, tried to wiggle his way out of their hold, even tried to throw a punch or kick out or do anything to keep then from dragging him our that door. Because he knows what happens when he gets dragged away like this. But they were four strong, well-fed, well-rested men against one exhausted, starved, scared 'slave'. There was little challenge.

"Here," He heard Bachir's voice again just as he was being pulled through the door. He saw the keeper hand a small silver remote to one of the guards and he couldn't suppress the shiver that ran down his spine. "Just in case it gives you trouble."

"Yes, sir." The guard responded gleefully.

The Doctor shut his eyes as he was finally torn from the room, giving in to the guards as he realized there was nothing he could do against them. He sucked in a shattered breath as the blows began to fall, as the remote was pressed, as they leered and laughed and prowled with their hands, as he was given his lesson.

* * *

When they brought him back to his cage later he was no longer bothered enough to care. He let them drag him down the grated hallways, passed all the caged aliens who cowered silently behind their bars. They tore his cage open and tossed him inside, letting him crumple to the floor carelessly, before slamming and locking it behind them. They walked away, still laughing and mocking their victim, but the Doctor didn't care. He just curled up around himself. He didn't cry, even though he was hurt and frustrated enough to. No, instead he just breathed, in and out, slowly, feeling each molecule of air brush lightly against his lips like a kiss. Yes, focus on that…

A shudder ran up his spine as his body begged him for something to eat. The pain in his stomach was nauseating, to the point where he wondered if he'd even be willing to eat anything if he were to be presented with it. He was sure he would be, but at the moment it was nice to just imagine he wouldn't; better to think about not wanting food than of  _how_ much you want food.

His eyes shot open as something soft brushed across his outstretched hand. Red fingers were gently stroking his own, and the Doctor glanced up to see Lalay watching him with her large black eyes, the corners of her brows tilted downwards with concern. The Doctor tried to push himself up, for some reason suddenly caring again about looking weak, but her hand suddenly pressed down on his, signaling him to stay still. He was more than happy to oblige.

The hand vanished for a moment and the Doctor felt a pang of loss and regret before he saw her reaching back through the meshing dividing their cages. But now she held something in her hand: a round yellow roll of bread large enough to fill her whole palm. The Doctor's eyes flicked up to her, questioning with a furrow of his eyebrows, but she simply smiled and jerked her hand, encouraging him to take it from her. His stomach did a somersault as he cautiously took the roll from Lalay. The crust on the outside was thick and hard, but just holding it between his fingers he could tell the inside dough would be nice and soft.

Suddenly he didn't feel like he could go another second without the bread. He tore it in half and discovered he had been right about the inside. He scooped up to soft dough and observed it for a moment. Would he even be able to keep anything he eats down? Bread was pretty neutral and bland, but even so, it was more solid than he would have hoped. But beggars can't be choosers, so he quickly plopped the bread in his mouth, savoring the taste on his tongue before swallowing it thickly. He waited for something to go wrong, but nothing did, and so the rest of the bread was gone within seconds.

He glanced up at Lalay, who was still watching him through the bars, and mouthed "Thank you" even as his eyes began to feel heavy. Even that meager amount of bread had satisfied him, his Time Lord metabolism taking care of the rest, but now he just wanted to sleep. He had jump-started the battery and now he wanted to let it charge.

But before he could, Lalay quirked her head to the side, indicating with her curled fingers from him to come closer. Slowly, the Doctor pushed himself onto his knees and crawled over. He leaned heavily against the meshing between them, exhausted from the intricacies of the small movement, but still managed to flash her a small smile. She returned it, if somewhat sadly, and reached her hand through the meshing to grasp his. The Doctor held back a curious frown. She had never allowed him to touch her before; he couldn't even sit next to her in the dinning hall without her becoming tense and stiff. But now her red fingers traced over his in a comforting yet non-intimate manner.

The Doctor watched as one of the fingers running over his knuckles began to turn a deeper shade of red, then maroon, and then slowly it ebbed into purple. The color spread up her wrist, arm, shoulder, up under her gray shirt and then crawled up her neck, the dark purple consuming her face until all the red was gone. Only the black spots artfully dotting her neckline, her black eyes, and her equally dark hair remained the same. The Doctor smiled in awe and she beamed back. It was a gorgeous transformation and he could see the joy and pleasure of successfully contrachroming sparkling in her eyes.

The dark purple began to lighten until it became a soft violet. And then turquoise streaks began to appear among the purple, like the light strokes of an artist's brush. Miniscule silver dots formed across her hands and arms and the Doctor gasped as he recognized the constellations of stars from the Shelwickian Galaxy.

Lalay quickly glanced over her shoulder and scanned the hallway, looking for guards within earshot, before leaning forward and pressing her lips to the meshing beside the Doctor's ear. "On my planet," She began in a breathy whisper. She paused and glanced back again. Slaves weren't allowed to talk while in their cages, but sometimes the guard's ears were turned off or too far away. She turned back to the Doctor who was still studying the array of stars painted into her skin. "On my planet, the sky is bright blue during the day, like on Earth. But at sundown, the blue gives way to the dark purple of night."

Another pause and glance over her shoulder. The Doctor nodded that she was in the clear, and she continued. "But before night, during twilight, the sky is such a soft purple it looks like asphidenna petals, and the last remaining turquoise of the once blue sky become wisps and the stars stand out in vibrant clarity." The Doctor closed his eyes to the sound of her whispered voice, like a lullaby, like a gorgeous bedtime story. He felt himself getting lost in the exotic way her tongue danced over the pronunciation of the foreign words. "I used to get off kitchen duty just in time to watch the sunset," She was saying. "I would go and lie in the blue grass and watch the sky turn. Twilight on Shelwick will always be my favorite time of day. I taught myself how to contrachrome into that masterpiece, perfecting the colors and the strokes of the turquoise, until I could flawlessly resemble that sky. That way, no matter where I am taken, I will always have a little of Shelwick with me."

The Doctor opened his eyes to see her staring at him through the bars of their cages, her own black orbs misty with memories. Her now purple fingers were still drawing circles on the back of his hand.

"If you can discover your one anchor, that one thing who ties you to who you are, nothing can feel lonely." She said. "Nothing can feel impossible. You can find –"

Her word cut off sharply as there was a faint  _buzz_ and her back arched outwards for a second, a snarl of pain escaping her lips before she relaxed, breathing hard. " _No talking_!" A harsh voice called from down the hall.

Lalay bowed her head and went to move away, but the Doctor grabbed her hand back up, halting her. He knew his anchor. He knew exactly what tied him to being himself. He was the  _Doctor._ The mender. The man who heals and comforts and saves. But lately he had not had many chances to heal others, to show comfort, to save them. He was feeling lonely, it was true, useless even, and he had allowed that devour his own self-awareness. He had given in.

But not anymore. He knew what he needed to do. Now, even in this small act, he could not feel quite so useless. It was his turn to comfort someone else finally.

Lalay glanced up at him in surprise as he grabbed her hand, keeping her next to him against the mesh wire. He turned her hand over so his fingers pressed again the pulse pumping beneath her purple skin and gently branched out with his mind. She stiffened as she felt his consciousness brush against her own, panicking slightly until he soothed her with his thoughts.

 _Shh, it's okay, it's just me._ He sent through the link, focusing all his calm and comforting thoughts towards her until her mind relaxed enough to allowed him in. He graciously stepped into the foyer of her mind, politely waiting where her subconscious allowed him to appear. He did not want to push the boundaries of his welcome, for it had been a miracle the skittish alien had allowed him in at all. He just wanted to leave his present for her and step back with his gratitude.

With a deep breath through his slowly mending nose, he began to delve into the depths of his mind, searching for the memory of purple skies and blue murderous grass. It had been many centuries since then, but he could still remember it like it was yesterday, the beauty and tranquility of that Shelwickian summer sky unparalleled by many of the wonders of the universe. He presented the memory to Lalay through their connection, showing her the twinkle of the stars in the violet sky, the way with wind ruffled the leaves on the trees surrounding the lake he and Sarah Jane had stumbled upon while running from some enemy he couldn't even remember. It was a gorgeous image of a warm summer night, and he hoped the native Aonian would be pleased with it.

He opened his eyes to find a single stray tear sliding down Lalay's face, catching on the corner of her lips which were upturned into a full smile. He felt himself beaming in response. It felt good – no, it felt  _amazing_  – to see someone smile again, and he realized with a jolt just how long it had been since he'd last seen a genuinely happy smile in this place. The Doctor squeezed her hand one more time; the exhaustion of such a long telepathic link after so much physical strain was starting to make his mind feel heavy. He slipped away from her gently but left the memory behind, securing it to the walls of her consciousness.  _The memory won't fade from you now_ , he added as the connection began to close.  _You'll have it with you forever, Lalay, no matter where you go, just like you said._

She hiccupped with happiness, causing her to giggle slightly like the young, excitable girl she should be, that she had been torn away from. "Thank you." She mouthed through her smile.

The Doctor grinned sleepily as he leaned even further against the bars between them. His vision was becoming dimmer, fatigue pressing against him insistently, but the world, somehow, had grown slightly brighter, changing as suddenly and seamlessly as Lalay's skin color.


	23. Chapter 23

The Doctor woke with a shout to a sharp  _zap_  running through his system. He heard similar shouts of surprise and pain echoing through the cellblock as everyone else was administered the brutal wake-up call. The Doctor shook his head to rid the fogginess of sleep and blinked night-sand from his eyes. He had fallen asleep still leaning against the meshing between his and Lalay's cages, legs tucked underneath him so now they were tingling with numbness. And the shock had not helped decrease the painful pins-and-needles sensations at all.

He looked down and saw Lalay glancing around with confusion as well. She never missed waking up before the alarm. The Doctor frowned as his internal clock informed him that it was actually too early for it to be the normal wake-up time. Everything here ran on a strict, tight schedule…why was it different now?

His frown deepened as he heard the door at the end of the hallway crash open and two voices drifted angrily into their cages.

"This is fucking ridiculous!" One grumbled followed by a vibrating, crashing sound that suggested whoever it was had kicked one of the metal cages in his anger. "All of them?"

"That's what they said. Now just hurry up and get them out! Pres wants them in the showroom by ten after."

The Doctor heard the first few cages being unlocked and swung open, the residents being dragged out into the hall with various sounds of irritation, pain, and fear. He glanced over at Lalay, who was now sitting poised on one knee as she watched as best as she could through the bars of her cage. Her skin was now a startlingly light shade of turquoise, the instinctive contrachrome vocabulary for contentment – it was extraordinary, the entire race could communicate solely through skin tones if they so desired. The Doctor guessed with a smile that she had had a good sleep as well, hopefully with dreams of purple skies. She must have noticed the Doctor staring at her for she turned to furrow her eyebrows at him. "What's happening?" The Doctor mouthed, but the only response he received was a shrug.

The two men were getting closer, opening all the cage doors manually it appeared. The Doctor pushing himself to his knees since he couldn't stand and stretched his back and arms, swinging his head to one side and hearing a satisfying  _pop_  as his vertebras clicked back into place. That had been the longest amount of sleep he'd gotten in a couple of days without being interrupted by Bachir's orders and he was feeling pleasantly refreshed from it. His stomach, although still disappointingly empty, did not ache as horribly as it had before. His system successfully absorbed the nutrients and sustenance of the small roll of bread, and even though there had not been much, the Doctor could already feel the energy converted from its carbohydrates lingering beneath the surface, ready to be put to use for the day.

The men had finally reached his cage door. One of them yanked off the chart hanging next to his door like everyone else's and sneered as he read it over. "Even this untrainable prick?" The Doctor recognized him as one of the guards he'd seen around, but not one from the group last night, who the Doctor wasn't too fond of anymore.

The other man, who was busy unlocking the Ood from his cage directly across from the Doctor's, turned to look at him over his shoulder. "Pres said the Prebassador wants to see all the stock. Including the untrained ones. Just get it out, will you?" He growled as he turned back to the Ood's cage.

The Doctor didn't particularly like – or, frankly, understand – what the two men were saying, but he was still so satisfied with the amount of sleep he'd received and how he'd managed to convince Lalay to let down her guard enough to instinctively turn her skin turquoise that a small smile was still stretching his lips when the guard turned back to him. "Whatchu smiling at, freak?"

The Doctor just smiled a little bit wider at that. "Good morning to you, too." He said as cheerfully as he dared. "Thanks for the wake-up call this morning. Would've hated to have slept in through all the fun I'm sure we're about to have today."

The guard's lip curled upwards as he unlocked his door. "I'd be keeping that tongue of yours glued to the roof o' your mouth if I'as you. Today's not the day for cheek."

"Wow, great grammar." The Doctor couldn't stop himself from saying as he crawled towards the opening in the most dignifying manner he could on his knees. He didn't know why he said it, and he knew he would probably regret it soon, but he'd woken that morning with the familiar kindling spark of his old confidence, and he simply couldn't bring himself to dose the fire so soon instead of let it spread.

Unsurprisingly the guard growled at the comment, and very soon the Doctor felt fingers grabbing him by the hair. He hissed as he was pulled forward, thrown from his cage roughly into the opposite wall of meshing. "Get up." The man hissed as he turned away from him and began unlocking Lalay's cage. The Doctor pulled his head into his hands, a sudden headache ringing through it like a noisy gong. The combination of the telepathy from last night, the sudden movement this morning, and the lack of food and water from the last couple days were catching up with him.

Moments later he felt a comforting hand pulling him up insistently. He allowed it and the meshing beside him to help him to his feet, head still swimming. Lalay pushed him forward gently, eyes always on the ground. He nodded his thanks and followed the rest of the slaves down the usual hallway towards the bathrooms and the cafeteria. It had been a while since he'd participated in this ritual with everyone else; usually Bachir or one of his cronies would come collect him before he was given the chance to steal a bowl of the now completely appetizing mush they usually served.

However, no one appeared for him that day. He emerged from the bathroom with the rest of the male slaves and joined the line forming for their breakfast. He slipped in right behind Lalay, who tensed for a fraction of a second before relaxing again.

"Lalay, what's going on?" He asked in a whisper as one of the guard rushed passed them, all looking quite frantic.

Lalay barely turned her head backwards as she responded. "It's an auction. But I've never seen so many of us being called in at once…and it's too early…" She sounded just as confused as everyone else looked. The Doctor looked around and realized for the first time that the cafeteria was crammed with far more aliens than usual. Generally each cellblock of about ten people ate together at separate times, but now there seemed to be about thirty or forty men and women crouching at the tables or standing along the walls.

"An auction…?" He mused out loud. He knew of a few auctions happening since he'd arrived, but had never been placed on sale due to his training status. But he already knew the general routine just from observations. A pair of guard would usually stalk down the aisles of the cages, reading off charts and pulling out aliens who matched the budget and criteria of the buyers for that day. Not all of them were sold each time, and so he had also seen a few of them shuffling back to their cages, some looking relieved and others outright depressed. He was starting to relate with the later emotion; if it weren't for Rose he would have wished to be sold out of this place a long time ago as well.

Speaking of which, the words spoken by the two men who had released them earlier came back to him. They'd said 'all of them'. The Doctor's heart fluttered as he realized he was probably looking at the entirety of the Eyal alien-trafficking facility. He scanned the cafeteria for any sign of that blonde hair as he approached the pot of lukewarm potato mush, but, deflated, saw nothing that looked like his Rose upon first glance. He looked around again, hoping she was just sitting out of view and he'd missed her the first time. Or maybe…had she already been sold?

The Doctor was pulled out of his search as he felt, for the second time that short day, fingers entwine in his hair and tug him backwards. "Ow, ow, ow!" He protested as he was pulled mercilessly from the line. Bachir had hold of his hair like a leash, dragging him by it away from the prospect of breakfast until the Doctor was forced to arch his head down to alleviate the pressure, bowing to the man and stumbling after him.

Bachir led him through a door into a new hallway and shoved him up against the wall, finally releasing his hold on the Doctor's hair. "Ouch!" The Doctor ground out flatly as he rubbed out the top of his head viciously, fluffing up his filthy hair. "Seriously? You couldn't at least let me eat first before tearing all my hair out?"

His cheek received him a smack across the face, but it wasn't as painful as it usually was, strong enough to sting but not enough to leave a bruise. This puzzled the Doctor. Bachir had never had any hesitations on bruising him before.

"Drink." He ordered harshly, shoving a cup of water into the Doctor's hand. He downed half of it instantly, ignoring the strange taste that tingled over his tongue. He first noticed it a few weeks ago and knew it was some sort of additive to the water. He assumed at first that it was extra vitamins and nutrients to keep him going without food for so long, but something told him that was not the case. He had his theories now, neither of which he liked very much, but either way his tongue felt thick and his throat dry as the sand in the desert outside Ren's outpost, so he drank it anyway while Bachir continued to rant mindlessly in front of him.

"This is complete and utter bullshit! Those  _t'racal_ bastards, just looking to make a  _reis'kla_ dollar." The Doctor resisted raising an eyebrow at his keeper's cursing and rambling. This was very…uncharacteristic of this Drephesh of very few words. Again he got the feeling that something wasn't all alright. But he kept his thoughts to himself and continued to drink.

"You finished yet?" The cup was snatched from his hand so fast it spilled over the side, splattering across the Doctor's bare feet and the keeper's steel-toed boots. Bachir growled in irritation. He grasped the Doctor by the collar of his shirt and pulled him close, glaring into his trainee's eyes. The Time Lord choked slightly as a stream of water went down the wrong pipe and tried to look away as he'd been 'trained' to since meeting the man. "Listen now, 305. You will  _not_ be sold. Not today. I've not finished with you."

"Sounds like someone has a crush on me." Another strike to the stomach met him at his words. The Doctor doubled over, completely winded. Bachir went on as if nothing had happened.

"So you're going to behave while I try to iron this crap out, alright?"

"Oh, so now I get a choice in this?" The Doctor pulled himself back up, glaring at his keeper's forehead while fighting the urge to look away. "Okay then, I choose  _not_ to behave."

Bachir measured him up for a moment, sucking on his front teeth, before responding with a simple, "Okay."

Pain radiated sharply and instantly from the band around the Doctor's ankle. It traveled up his right leg, slithering up his spine, seizing every muscle along the way. The Doctor groaned as he clutched at the wall, trying to keep himself upright as everything below the waist went semi-numb with pins-and-needles. He heard the whine of the anklet shut off but the pain remained for a moment longer. The wall held no support and the Doctor slid down it, unable to force his knees to lock.

"However," Bachir was saying above him, his tone not even having changed. He held the silver remote controlling the anklet loosely to his side, clearly within the Doctor's vision. "If you choose  _to_ behave, there will be no need for that. But you know I'm trigger happy, so please give me a reason. Now get up."

The Doctor scrambled quickly to his feet. Too quickly. He told himself he didn't want to have to go through that unnecessary pain again, but he could have just as easily risen to his feet slowly. That was still obedience. So why had he felt such an urge to react immediately?

He had no time to question his reaction as Bachir grabbed him by the collar of his shirt again and started marching too hastily down the corridor. The Doctor stumbled to keep up and catch the keeper's continued commands. "You're going to keep that mouth of yours shut unless you want it sewn shut, do you hear me?"

"Yes…sir." The Doctor managed to ground out as he struggled to keep up with the keeper.

"Good. Maybe you actually are capable of learning something."

Bachir missed the way the Doctor rolled his eyes, but the Time Lord remained silent this time, no longer feeling the pull to be impudent. The confidence he'd woken up with was now almost entirely gone, replaced with that deep-seeded black dread that had been corroding at him ever since his arrival. Bachir kept his silence as well as he tugged his charge down yet another hallway, passed guards and other keepers milling around, some directing their own slaves in various less-possessive ways than Bachir. The Doctor didn't recognize any of them.

They arrived in an area of the facility the Doctor had never been in before. The grated metal floors gave way to tiles that made a soft  _slap_ ping sound against the Doctor's bare feet. This part of the facility was crawling with employees, and not just the guards and trainers the Doctor had been in company with over the last few weeks. He saw people dressed in the business attire of their planet running around talking on comm. sets and scribbling on notebooks. In one area he saw a few rows of advanced computers being typed away at viciously by determined-looking staff. Even as he was passing, the Doctor saw a complicated equation drawn incorrectly on a glass sheet wall for some sort of business product and inflation diagram and his OCD strained to run over and correct it despite himself. But perhaps it would be a bad idea now to emphasize his heightened knowledge over them, especially if he was finally being put up for auction.

Finally, they seemed to have reached their destination as Bachir roughly pulled the Doctor to a halt in front of nice wooden door with a gold plaque next to it that read  _Fogra Wesll. Director of Sales._

Bachir knocked less than politely before throwing the door open anyways. He shoved the Doctor in first before following close behind. To the Doctor's surprise his feet stumbled over deep, soft carpet. The most comfortable thing he'd felt in weeks.  _How depressing, the floor is the most comfortable thing I have._

He just had time to take in his surroundings – a strange potted plant in one corner, a large desk strewn with papers and files buried under a virtual computer monitor, a surprised and annoyed Drephesh standing up from behind that desk to glare at them – before Bachir hissed viciously, "Assume the position."

The Doctor groaned inwardly as he allowed his knees to buckle, thankful for the soft carpet beneath him. He fell into the same position he'd been trained ruthlessly to perfect: on his knees, sitting up, back ram-rod straight, arms at his sides, head bowed so all he could see was the floor directly in front of him. He thought back to the day he'd 'learned' this lesson. A whole day in which he was forced to stay like this on the mercilessly cold, hard tiles of the training room, unable to move an inch. And if he did, the anklet would sear up instantly. His knees had been sore for a week afterwards.

"Bachir, what is the meaning of this?" Wesll demanded. "And what is  _that_ doing in here?"

" _That_  is my trainee right now that you're trying to put up for auction. It's not ready, I'm not through with it yet."

Wesll let out a sigh. "That was the order, Bachir. He wants to see all the stock we have available, and even untamed ones are still considered procurable."

"You do not understand, Fogra," Bachir argued. "This one is different. It has the potential to be so much more to Eyal than just a check. Just read Vadim's report –"

"I have. And as heartwarming as it is to see you so attached to it, there is nothing I can do." The Doctor heard Bachir growl angrily and unconsciously flinched away from it. But surprisingly, Wesll responded with a low chuckle. "You know, you're the third trainer I've dealt with this morning. Although none have gone so far as to actually bring their charge to me. A sympathy play? Trying to get me to see how wild and uncontrollable your trainee is? Because it seems submissive enough to me."

At that the Doctor simply couldn't help himself. A short laugh escaped through his nose, just loud enough for the two bickering Drephesh to hear. He quickly sucked in a breath, biting his lower lip to keep the sound in, but it was too late. The anklet seared as it sent the stream of electricity through him. With a shout of pain he collapsed forward, just managing to brace himself before he hit the floor face-first. He writhed for a second, muscles cramping and releasing sporadically, before it all vanished. Panting, the Doctor pushed himself back to his knees, shoot a glare over at his keeper so quickly it could easily have been missed. Maybe it was, because Bachir ignored it and leaned forward over the desk so he could stare intently at the director of sales.

"If that's not proof enough for you. But it's not the submission I care about, Fogra! There is so much we don't know about it. We don't even know what  _species_ it is yet! Headquarters is taking their bloody sweet time, and meanwhile I've been wrestling with it's overabundant ego. It's  _not_ sales material yet."

"You know what, I've heard enough." Wesll raised his voice, cutting across Bachir's rant. "The buyer wants to see  _all_ of our stock, and he's pretty damn influential if you're unaware of that, so he's going to get to see all of our stock, including your little thing here. So I really don't care how attached you've gotten and whether you want to keep it as a pet now and give it a nice collar and a bowl, it's going to the auction room today. End of story."

There was a sound of papers being shuffled around before he heard another sigh. "Look, Bachir," Wesll continued in a softer tone. "The Prebassador is only looking for one purchase today. One man buying one slave. That's a one in forty-three chance he'll pick…whatever its number is. And you know what those playboy types are like. He's probably just looking for some bitch to entertain him during the Trials."

"Well let's hope, Fogra, because if I have to get a new trainee before breaking this one, we all know who's to blame for it. Get up!"

The last part was clearly directed at the Doctor, who slowly pushed himself to his feet. His legs were still tingling from the electricity and kneeling for so long. "Oh, and Bachir," Wesll started again. "Next time you come for a visit, leave your pet outside. It's smelling up the room."

With an irritated huff, Bachir grabbed the back of the Doctors collar and pulled him up. The Doctor was getting really tired to behind dragged around in that manner, but didn't have much choice as the fabric tightened around his throat as his keeper marched off, forcing him to follow. The door slammed shut behind him and the back of Bachir's hand caught the Time Lord's face in surprise.

"Ow!" The Doctor growled again as he messaged his reddened cheek. "What was that for?"

"Fat lot of good you were in there." Bachir growled back. The Doctor just scoffed.

"What did you want me to do? Grovel at his feet? 'Please, Director, don't sell me, please.' AGH!" This time the electricity didn't last too long, but it still sent the Doctor crashing back down to his knees.

"You mind that fucking mouth, 305. You're still an arrogant, cheeky bastard, but I'm going to be the one to have the pleasure to break you from it. So you do whatever it takes to not get sold, you hear me?"

The Doctor laughed from his spot on the floor. "And how, exactly, am I supposed to have control over  _that_. Maybe if you don't want to sell me you should, oh, I don't know,  _not put me up for sale._ "

He fully expected another shock to come, but it didn't. Instead Bachir just laughed; a low, threatening laugh. "Oh, believe me, 305. If things went my way you'd be seeing the inside of an Eyal laboratory before you saw the auction room."

The Doctor swallowed thickly, trying to force it passed the lump that had formed in the back of his throat. So that's what Bachir had planned for him. To be a lab rat for Eyal's use, providing information to the same organization he will be attempting to bring down in the past.

He was pulled roughly to his feet again by the hair and thrown at…well, someone. He glanced up to see a passing guard now holding him up by the arms after stumbling from the force of Bachir's shove. The guard quickly brushed him off, a look of repulsion on his face. "Take this thing to be washed, it's disgusting." Bachir snapped from behind the Doctor. "Then bring it down to the auction room. Just get it over with."

The Doctor moved quickly to find his feet as the guard gripped him by the upper arm, his fingers surely about to leave five distinct bruises on his pale skin. He glanced back one more time to see his keeper glaring at him, his hand nervously twitching and fingers drumming against his leg subconsciously. The Doctor suppressed a shudder as he realized that the only room he wanted to see now that he knew Bachir's real plan was the auction room. What appeared to be the one way out of this place alive…


	24. Chapter 24

After the cold hose down and scrubbing with the harsh soap that turned his skin pink and raw, the Doctor was given a new, cleaner pair of gray track-pants and a shirt and was led once again back down the halls towards the unfamiliar side of the facility. The guard who walked him was less callous than the others, but his lip did curl down in a disgusted frown every time the slave stumbled and was forced to touch him. The Doctor guessed from his mannerisms that this man was not one of the guards on 'stock duty', and therefore had little experience dealing with the slaves.

He could have taken advantage of it. This sentry was not as on his guard as he should be. The Doctor could have easily broken away, especially since they didn't see another soul on their walk to and from the showers. Everyone else must have already been sent to the auction room already. They passed through another room where the hallways forked off and the Doctor's hearts jumped as he caught a whiff of fresh air. Not the stale, recycled air of the facility, but actual clean, fresh air, as if someone had left open a window. All he had to do was break from the young guard and dash down the opposite hallway to his freedom. Perhaps he was being too optimistic in believing he could actually get away, because he just shook his head and kept walking. He wasn't going to get out. He would never make it that far, wouldn't survive out there alone.

And once again, there was that obnoxious voice in the back of his head that did not sound at all like the Doctor's. He could hear it more and more now, whereas before it had been just a silent manipulator. Now, however, he knew to focus on it whenever it appeared, not in order to listen but in order to hear it, and with each thought the voice got more distinct. It sounded like Bachir. And he could recognize the words used.  _Useless. Worthless. Property. Slave. Stay. Obey. Eyes down. Brainless. Animal. Helpless. Pet._

 _Can't survive on your own._  Those words told him. The Doctor shook his head.

"What?" The guard asked suddenly.

The Doctor jumped despite himself. "N-nothing. Just…water…in my ears." He shook his head like a dog and winced. He was acting just the way they wanted him to. Like a  _dog._  But  _why_? Why was he acting like this, cow-towing around these beings that should be beneath him while his greater consciousness told him not to?

He was starting to get an idea.

The guard scowled. "Keep walking. We're gonna be late."

The smell of fresh air melted away as he was guided down a separate hall. At the end of it the room opened up into a large warehouse-like area. There were cubicles and computers down in a dugout area with employees running around, passing out folders, riffling through papers, typing into keyboards. A sort of carpeted catwalk ran just slightly above them like a hanging hallway and lead to a staircase topped with a door and a large window overlooking the computer center. The Doctor was lead down a flight of stairs into a sort of basement area decorated only with one door, two guards, and what must have been about forty keepers. The Doctor recognized them all by the same unimpressed scowl they seemed to be wearing at all times. He glanced around and caught the eye of his own keeper, who was in the middle of discussing something with another, but he continued to glare at his charge even as he spoke, as if daring him to try to be sold. The Doctor looked away first.

"Took you're sweet time." One of the guards by the door commented as the Doctor was led up to it.

"Auction hasn't started yet, right?" The man at the Doctor's side asked hurriedly.

"Naw, rich git hasn't gotten here yet. Pres says he was told the Prebassador was running late, and of course we all must dance around the money." The guard grumbled as he unlocked the metal door. The Doctor stayed silent during the exchange. That was the fourth time he'd heard someone mention the word Prebassador and he knew it meant something important, but he couldn't quite place its origin.

"Go on." One of the other guards growled at him and he was shoved through the door way.

He stumbled slightly in surprise before spinning around, ready to snap back with some sarcastic comment, but the door slammed shut in his face, so instead he just grumbled, "Well, that was rude…"

The Doctor ran a hand through his still drying hair, ruffling it up and flicking out drops of remaining water. He turned around and as he did so his eyes strayed away up the walls of the new room. They reached all the way up to the incredibly high ceiling, the top fenced off by more of the wiring meshing that divided their cells. Everything was dark gray and so boring to look at the Doctor was fighting off a yawn. There was only the one door he'd been shoved through and, up high on one of the walls, a gigantic window that jutted out from the wall, angled downwards so those one the other side could easily see down into the room. It reminded the Doctor of those stock exchange halls back on earth with the observation rooms overlooking the exchange floor. He snorted a small laugh as he realized that's exactly what that room was; stock exchange. Only instead of shares in a company, they were trading him.

The walls were lined with rows of metal benches, none of them looking too comfortable. There were about forty or fifty beings milling about the room. A few were standing – some solitary while others had merged together for a sense of safety in a herd – and many more sitting either along the benches or down on the floor. He caught sight of the turquoise skin of Lalay sitting cross-legged on the ground, drawing a strange pattern along the metal floor with her finger. She didn't glance up at him.

The Doctor sighed and resigned himself to sitting alone, knowing better than to disturb Lalay when she was this anxious and not really desiring starting a conversation with another. They were all as taut as a bow and ready to snap shut to the world at a moments notice. So instead he turned back around to try and find a seat on one of the benches.

And then there she was. Perched on one of the benches with her gold hair tucked behind her ears and legs drawn up to her chest. She looked skinny, though not nearly as horribly starved and frail as the Doctor did. Her gray clothes fit to her form better than his and made her look whole, complete, rather than scrawny. The Doctor even noticed that her hair had been washed and brushed through almost thoughtfully. The vibrant yellow of it seemed to shine like newly-earthed gold amongst the grim grayness of their surroundings.

But it was her eyes that froze the Doctor where he stood. They were watching him warily from over her knees, dull recognition emanating from beneath her long lashes. She stared at him as one might stare at a lion, silently trying to figure out if the creature had already seen them and wondering when it would pounce.

Something was horribly wrong.

"Oh Rose…what happened?" The Doctor groaned quietly to himself. He flashed her a small, awkward smile, wondering why it had to be awkward and not joyful, which she did not return. Oh, that's why. His delight in having finally found his faithful companion was clearly unrequited for some reason.

Either way, he bounded forward with feigned energy, pretending he hadn't noticed anything off at all. He cupped his hands behind his back and strolled forward casually as if he were approaching her in a park where she'd found a nice wooden bench by the pondside rather than inside the belly of the metal monster that was the facility. Rose did nothing as he approached but rather seemed to curl in on herself even more and stare emotionlessly, almost glaringly, up at him. When he stopped in front of her, her eyes quickly flitted around the room as if looking for an escape route before they settled on him once again, apparently realizing there was none. The Doctor pretended not to notice.

"Dame Tyler," He began in a fake posh accent that would have made Rose giggle on any normal day in the TARDIS. Now, however, she just frowned at him. "We really must stop meeting in this manner. You must give me warning next time so that I might change out of these dreary rags. May I?" He asked in his usual voice, indicting towards the seat next to her. She didn't move her gaze from him as she answered plainly and simply,

"No."

"Oh." The Doctor tried not to sound completely crestfallen. His face couldn't quite hide the deflated shadow that crossed it, however. He shrugged one shoulder instead and smiled weakly. "No matter, the ground looks pretty comfy anyway."

He plopped down a few feet in front of her, much to Rose's surprise, and sighed heavily. He hung his head and stared dejectedly at his fingers, defeat evident in the slight angle of his shoulders. He didn't try speaking again, knowing it would get him nowhere. Humans were like spookish horses when nervous; sometimes the only thing you could do was stand there with the peace offering of a carrot and wait for them to come to you. Unfortunately, the Doctor did not have any carrots, although, of course, now he was craving one. Or any kind of vegetable, really.

Rose was the first to speak after an agonizingly long silence.

"He told me he'd keep you away from me."

The Doctor flinched at the dull, monotonous tone of her voice. It was completely hollow. He felt a flicker of anger rise inside his chest. " _He_ being your keeper?"

Rose nodded slowly. Unlike the Doctor, she couldn't seem to keep her eyes off his face, watching for any untrustworthy movement. The Doctor's eyes, however, hovered somewhere around her ankles as she sat above him on the bench. He wanted to sit up there next to her, but guilt held him down on the floor like gravity. Guilt for something he didn't even do, for the most part.

"And…" The Doctor swallowed thickly. "Do you  _want_ him to keep me away?"

He chanced a glance as Rose's face just fast enough to see uncertainty flash across it. Good. Good start.

"I don't…I don't know." She answered with a little bit more resonance in her voice. "After what you did –"

The Doctor's eyebrows darted downwards in a frown. "What I did? What did I – ohhh." The Doctor sat back on his ankles as the realization hit him, mouth making a comical 'o' shape as he glanced up at the giant window glaring oppressively down at them. He felt like an insect under a microscope. Quickly, he changed his question, still not looking at Rose. "What did he  _tell_  you I did?"

He noticed her eyes narrow in puzzlement. "He…he told me exactly what happened. What you – what you tried to…" Her voice tapered off as she saw the confusion and concern in the Time Lord's face.

"Did he tell you I hurt you?" An hour long second passed before Rose began to nod again. The Doctor sighed again. "And you believe him?"

"I – I – There were bruises – and – you – I remember you – seeing you…"

"Rose…" On impulse he scooted forward, grabbing for one of her hands resting idly on her drawn knees. She snatched it away from him though and held it close to her chest as if afraid he would steal it from her entirely. The Doctor sighed dolefully. "Rose, please?" He held his hand out as if offering the horse the carrot, waiting for it to come to him. After a pause, Rose hesitantly released her hold on her own hand and carefully stretched it out to lie lightly across the Doctor's.

He smiled at her reassuringly. "Thank you." He exhaled softly as he gently wrapped his fingers around her hand. He felt her flinch slightly but kept his hold, squeezing tenderly until she relaxed into his familiar touch. He circled his thumb over her bare knuckles as he slowly lifted their hands. When they were almost eye-level with the Doctor he leaned forward and, even as Rose tensed once again, pressed his lips lightly to her skin. He inhaled deeply through his nose and almost cringed as he caught the scent running through her veins. The same something he had smelled in his own water these passed few weeks.

He finally let out the breath he'd been holding as his shoulders sank down a few more inches. He replaced Rose's hand on her own knee, not wanting her to feel anymore uncomfortable than she already was. But now she wasn't watching him cautiously, but rather curiously.

"What was all that about?" She asked when he sank back onto his ankles again.

The Doctor ran a hand through his hair again, eliciting a soft groan of annoyance. He started again after a short pause, "Rose, the last time I saw you…was the first time since we got here. And you were drugged, drugged out of your little human mind. And I heard your keeper talking about some kind of dosage testing and that you were the trial subject."

An adorable wrinkle formed above the bridge of Rose's nose as she frowned. The Doctor tried to ignore it, but it was like it was staring at him, mocking him. Oh, how he'd missed that wrinkle. And the way her tongue stuck out between her teeth when she smiled. When was the last time she'd smiled? Really, truly, properly smiled? The Doctor quickly shook his head to interrupt that train of thought. It would get him no where. And she was still frowning at him, no doubt trying to understand where he was attempting to go with this. "Do you remember any of that?" He sighed.

"I remember seeing you," She started slowly, biting at her lower lip as she tried to think back. "But…I don't remember seeing you. I mean, I saw you, but…not  _what_ I saw…I just…oh, shut up." She grumbled as she noticed the Doctor was smiling despite himself. Even she seemed to be forcing back a reluctant smile. "What are you so happy about, eh? Happy your attack left me with amnesia?"

His smile instantly fell. "Rose, I didn't attack you. I would never,  _could_ never, do that to you, and you know that. You're my Rose and I love you. But that's what he told you, wasn't it? That I attacked you?"

Rose nodded again. At her affirmation, something suddenly went off inside the Doctor, something like an exploding balloon. He suddenly jumped to his feet, startling Rose and not even noticing it, as he spun around to glare up at the window, a bizarre smile now on his lips as if he'd finally figured out the solution to some troublesome joke. "Oh, ho, ho, that's clever. Horribly clever, you stupid, slimy bastards." He hissed up to the window. Rose almost laughed at his words, never really hearing the Doctor curse much. He heard her chokingly swallow the laugh and resisted smiling even wider at the fact that he had  _almost_ made her laugh again. Instead he plopped down on the bench beside her and pretended he hadn't heard. She seemed to lean away from him, but he hardly noticed as he drew his knees up to imitate her, drumming his fingers along his kneecaps. "I thought that's what could be going on. I mean, that's the only explanation for how I've been feeling lately. Oh, you smart Dr. Vadim. It's horrible, of course, absolutely unacceptable, I'll have to do something about it once we're out of here; but blimey, that's inventive. Light-years ahead of this quadrant's scientific abili…"

"Doctor!"

The Doctor snapped out of his one-hundred-miles-per-hour monologue to see Rose glaring at him. "Care to explain whatchor going on about?" She grumbled.

The Doctor smiled at her sheepishly. At least that grumble was the same as ever, dragging him out of his usual ramblings like an anchor. Maybe his ramblings, in return, were her anchor? She was looking at him now with large brown eyes no longer filled with fear but once again that small glint of curiosity. "Oh, right, sorry. It's been bothering me for weeks now, but it seems you just proved my theory. Thanks…I think."

"Well you're welcome…I think." She mocked him, but her voice sounded exasperated. "And what exactly is this theory and will I be getting any scientific credit for helping?"

The Doctor snorted. "After claiming responsibility for discovering the cure for the common cold and knocking poor old Dr. Coit off the Nobel Prize trophy, I think we're done taking credit for things for a while." At the memory Rose did smile slightly.

"He deserved it for pouring all that wine on my white shoes." She pouted jokingly.

They both began laughing at this shakily before Rose quickly silenced herself. She started gnawing on her lower lip pensively, watching the Doctor with uncertain eyes. "Why did you kiss my hand?" She questioned suddenly.

"I wasn't kissing your hand," The Doctor admitted. "I was smelling your blood. There are drugs running through you system right now."

Rose blanched. "Drugs? But, I haven't…They didn't give me anything. Not that I remember…"

"And yet you're still convinced that everything they told you about me is true, despite your own memory." The Doctor countered easily. He watched Rose carefully as she tried to process this information.

"But, I don't understand," She finally croaked out. "I've been drugged this whole time to think you're…evil or something?"

The Doctor rocked back so his back pressed against the hard wall. "Not necessarily that, exactly. If I'm correct – and let's be honest, I usually am – the drug works as a sort of neurological dampener that reduces the ability to properly perceive reality when a convincing alternative suggestion is presented. I think it works to override the coding in the various sensory areas of the cortex connecting the hippocampus to the limbic system-"

"Stop, stop, stop." Rose interrupted, hands held up in front of her as if she were physically attempting to stop him. "Okay, now try again, only this time try it in  _English_ , will you?"

The Doctor laughed softly. "They're manipulating you. I don't know how, but they're using some sort of drug that overrides the memory and reasoning centers of your brain. It convinces your mind that whatever you are told is the real truth."

"How do you know this?" Rose frowned. "It's all very science fiction-y, isn't it."

The Doctor stared at her for a moment as if in blank disbelief. "…Rose, you've been in a spaceship shaped like a box that's bigger on the inside that can travel through time and space with a nine hundred year old alien and  _now_ you're concerned with things sounding too much like science fiction?"

A small laugh bubbled up past Rose's lips as she shrugged sheepishly, looking away as she bit her lower lip again. The Doctor laughed at her awkwardness and continued. "And I know this because they're doing the same thing to me. And possibly everyone else in this place. I can taste it in the water. Can't you?"

"No, sorry, my inferior human senses are not quite as advances as your fantastic Tim–" Rose went to joke, but the Doctor suddenly clapped his hand over her mouth, shushing her immediately. Fear jumped back into her brown eyes, which were just starting to relax as their familiar banter wore on, as her body tensed and she instantly tried to shift away from the Time Lord. But the Doctor's other hand gently pressed against her lower back, keeping her close and stopping her from backing away. He glanced around quickly, suspiciously, shooting glances at the other slaves closest by before his intense eyes drifted upwards towards the oppressing window again.

He turned back to Rose and with a meaningful look asked silently if she would remain silent if he released her. She nodded minutely and the Doctor withdrew the hand covering her mouth, but his other hand remained, drawing comforting circles on the small of her back, reassuring her that he meant not harm. Rose cleared her throat and, in a quieter voice, asked in surprise, "They still don't know what you are?"

The Doctor shook his head as he glimpsed over at the steel door. Still shut, no sign of eavesdroppers. "Bachir – my keeper – is still trying to get it out of me," A hint of past pain graced his words that Rose couldn't miss. "And I think I remember them saying something about sending my DNA results to HQ for further classification, but I don't think their systems are advanced enough to include….my people…in it."

"What happens if they find out?" Rose asked nervously. The Doctor shrugged.

"Nothing good. Bachir already wants to send me off to the Drephesh National Science Board to go live out the rest of my days in some laboratory. An advancement-crazed race plus a heightened need for vengeance probably shouldn't go hand-in-hand."

"No, probably not." Rose agreed quietly. Her eyes had drifted down into her lap where her fingers were twisting around each other anxiously, a habit she had picked up since arriving in this place. "And what have they been telling you?"

The Doctor crinkled his nose. "To be obedient." He answered and then flashed her a devilish smile. "It's not really working out for them."

"I can imagine." She laughed in return. The Doctor's hearts nearly leapt out of his chest as he saw the very tip of her tongue poking out from between her teeth as she did so. There was his Rose. "You? Submissive? Can they even get you to shut up long enough to give you an order?" The Doctor forced a smile and quickly bowed his head.

"It's not for lack of trying." He compelled a small laugh to lighten the comment. Rose, however, didn't seem to have noticed or even heard him say anything. She went to cover her mouth as a huge yawn assaulted her, but halfway through her face contorted into a grimace. The yawn ended in a soft whine, like the sound an injured animal might make, and she folded over to press her head between her hands.

"Rose? Rose, what's wrong?" Concern burst through the Doctor as he saw her shoulders begin to shake ever so slightly. He moved closer to her side, placing a comforting yet hesitant arm around her frame. He still wasn't sure how comfortable she was with him, even though she seemed to be acting more like her old self now. The human girl just shook her head – or rather shook her entire upper body, cringing as the movement reached her head.

"Just…just a headache." She managed to gasp through pain. It seemed to pass as she lifted her head slightly, still staring at the ground. "I haven't slept in a while. I always used to get migraines when I didn't get enough sleep." She paused massaging her temples when her eyes caught the sudden glint of something silver on the Doctor's slightly exposed leg. "What's that?" Rose suddenly asked.

The Doctor quickly shifted over, attempting unsuccessfully to cover the metal band on his right ankle discretely. "You should try to get some sleep." He stated instead of answering her question. "Who knows if you'll be able to get rest after this, and we're just sitting around anyway."

Rose just shook her head again. "The auction should start soon, I shouldn't be asleep."

"You've been to one of these before?"

"You haven't?"

"No…still in training…"

Rose laughed. "You stubborn git."

"Yep, that's me. They're not going to be able to change all of us. Now will you please go to sleep? You look exhausted." It was true. Now that she was no longer glaring at him untrustingly, the Doctor could see the dark smudges beneath her eyes and how they drooped slightly as if fighting to stay open. Her skin was even a sickly pale tone that clashing drastically with her vibrant blonde locks. She honestly did look as if she hadn't slept in days, making the Doctor feel unreasonably guilty for getting a full night's sleep the night before. She also looked like she was on the verge of arguing against it so he quickly shushed her. "I heard the guards saying the …buyer," He choked over the word in disgust. "isn't going to be here for a while. Don't worry, I'll watch over you and wake you up when the… _buyer_ gets here."

Once again Rose looked as if she were about to oppose but then another large yawn interrupted her and she found herself leaning heavily against the Doctor as the strength of it wrecked through her. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close so she was propped again his side and shoulder. She had to admit that the Doctor was far more comfortable than the grated flooring of her own cage and the warmth and security she had always associated with the time traveling adventurer seemed to be enveloping her right then and there, coaxing her eyes closed. She let out a sigh as he squeezed her shoulders reassuringly, a small smile twitching at the corners of her mouth.

The Doctor felt her nearly melt into him, heard her soft, relaxed sigh. He bent down and pressed his lips to the top of her hair before guiding them both around so she could lie down across the bench with her head resting on his leg as a pillow. She hummed something the Doctor couldn't quite hear and her eyes flickered open slightly. "Sleep." The Doctor commanded softly as he began to run his hands through her hair. That was when he noticed she was still shaking.

"D-Doctor?" Her voice sounded quiet and hesitant, almost child-like as she confessed, "I'm…I'm scared…to sleep. I don't want…the nightmares…."

"Shhhhh….It's okay, Rose. I'm here. No matter what they tell you, I will  _always_  be here to watch over you."

After a moment of relaxed silence he heard her speak again, as if sleep talking, "You said you love me…"

The Doctor didn't stop his soothing caress as he watched her fall further and further into the embrace of sleep. "Of course I love you, Rose." He whispered back as if it were the most obvious thing in the universe.

He couldn't tell if she'd heard him as her breathing had already deepened. She shifted further into his touch as his fingers continued to play with her locks and she seemed to have fallen asleep almost instantly to the comforting feeling. The Doctor glanced up, remembering for the first time since seeing Rose that they were not alone in the large auction room. No one seemed to pay the pair any heed except for one pair of large black eyes that watched him from across the room. The Doctor smiled at them, feeling for once real, true joy fueling the action. It was the Doctor and Rose again, just like it should always be.

Lalay nodded back to him in recognition before withdrawing back inside herself, just like every other lonely soul in the room. Every soul, except for two.


	25. Chapter 25

An hour and a half passed since Rose finally fell into a light sleep, two hours since they had all been thrown into the giant metal room. The large observation window hung over them, blank and ominous, and even though the Doctor couldn't see through it from the angle it jutted out from the wall, he could tell it was still empty.

Two or three times towards the beginning of her nap, the Doctor would hear Rose's breath become shorter, shallower, see her brow crease with worry and hear a small whimper or two escape her lips, but she was quickly quieted as the Doctor continued to run his fingers softly through her hair. Very soon her features would relax once more and she would again fall into a peaceful sleep. But the Doctor never once stopped stroking her hair, just in case.

Minutes ticked on but the Doctor was thoroughly content with just sitting there with Rose asleep in his lap. He himself didn't even feel remotely tired, thanks to his first full-night's sleep the night before, but his stomach was once again beginning to protest against his forced fast. He could sense the rest of the slaves crowded into the auction room starting to become restless, nervous and anxious as to why the auction was being delayed and when they would be dragged out and sent back to work. But despite the harsh metal of the bench beneath him and the wall behind him, the Doctor was perfectly comfortable with staying there for hours, days, even, if he could. He was in no rush to return to his training and be torn away from Rose again.

There's no way either of them would be sold that day. Or, at least, that's what the Doctor kept trying to convince himself. In all honesty there was only a relatively good chance they would not be sold. The odds in favor of one of them being chosen was two to forty-one, a 4.65 percent chance since there were forty-three others in the mix as well. However, the Doctor thought worriedly, someone with the title 'prebassador' combined with the way in which the keepers and employees kept talking about them sounded rather stately and respectable – for this society, at least – and the chances of anyone choosing a Slitheen anyway was half that of anyone else in the room, and the prospects of someone like that buying an Ood, who were primarily sold to labor and exploratory camps in this culture, was only a third. Therefore, bringing into account the two Ood and the Slitheen, there was now a 10.05 percent chance of them being sold. And since females were generally more likely to be chosen…

The Doctor had to stop himself from calculating all the numbers and probabilities bouncing around in his head because it was just becoming too dire. He looked around at the down-trodden and defeated faces surrounding him and immediately felt guilty for turning them into numbers and percentages, depersonalizing them in just the same way Eyal had by tattooing those numbers to their wrists. He should not be putting them up against himself and Rose, competing against them. He should be helping them.

But what could he do? Lalay had been right, he was just as stuck as they were. Maybe if he could get away from the facility, he could work from the outside to bring it down and return all these stolen aliens to their rightful homes. But the only way out was to be sold, and he would not leave Rose there alone, even if on that ten percent chance he would be chosen.

His fingers began to twirl a bit of Rose's hair into a complicated braid using five small sections, a traditional braid of the ancient Gallifreyans representing the five dimensions interwoven together. So subconscious was the action that he was actually surprised when he reached the end of her hair. He stared at the plait for a while, thinking. The ancient Gallifreyans used to own slaves, a long, long time ago, but when Rassilon came along and organized them all together he had outlawed the trade and trafficking of another sentient being. It all seemed to make so much sense that the Doctor simply couldn't understand how a society could possibly deem it acceptable.

He was broken out of his thoughts as something happened. A sudden change in the atmosphere, a new presence upon them. The Doctor glanced up quickly at the window and just like before could not see through it, but he could  _feel_ through it. Someone or someones were up there now. The auction had started.

He returned his attention to Rose as she shifted in her sleep. Should he wake her up? She had asked him to once the auction began, but she just looked so peaceful and childlike as she slept, the terror and torment of the last few weeks gone from her features. She needed her rest, and also the Doctor couldn't help but think there would be less chance of her being noticed if she remained how she was. Being sold and leaving Rose behind was far from an ideal situation, but Rose being sold and leaving  _him_ behind was even worse. How would he be able to find her if he ever got out. How would he know she was safe?

And yet her trust in him had only just been reestablished, and he didn't want to do anything to go against it so soon, and so he followed her wishes. Using his thumb to brush across her cheek, the Doctor whispered, "Rose. Rose, it's time to wake up."

Rose moaned softly and rolled away from him, pressing the side of her nose into his knee. The Doctor was only just able to keep her from rolling off the bench all together. Chuckling softly to himself, he tried again. "Come on, Rose, up and at 'em, rise and shine, wake up and smell the coffee."

"Coffee…" Rose sighed longingly. "Tea?"

"I'll buy you a cuppa once we get out of here, but come on, the auction just started."

That got her eyes open pretty quickly. Her brown eyes flitted sporadically across the ceiling of the auction room before they settled on the Doctor's face and she smiled lightly. "Morning." She managed through a small yawn.

The Doctor smiled back. "Morning, yourself. Sleep well?" Rose shrugged one-sidedly.

"Better than I have been. You said the auction started?"

"I think so, yeah. No one's been sold yet. I'm sorry I woke you, but you asked – "

"It's fine." Rose made no move to sit up, apparently perfectly comfortable with staying laying down on the Doctor's lap. The Doctor had no complaints about this except for the fact that his leg had decided at some point to take a nap all on its own and was only now waking back up, sending spikes of light pins-and-needles up and down his leg. He hadn't even noticed it had fallen asleep.

In the short, comfortable silence that fell between them as Rose closed her eyes again, the Doctor's stomach decided to add to the conversation. Rose giggled as it growled in her ear. "Hungry much?" She teased. The Doctor shrugged.

"Just a little bit. Haven't eaten anything much more than a roll of bread in the last four or five days, so the hunger's starting to catch up with me a bit."

Rose's eyes flew open again at that statement. "Four or five  _days_?" She blanched. "How does that even happen? What did you do to deserve that?"

"Nothing!" The Doctor replied a little too innocently. "I just might have attacked your keeper a little bit after you passed out from the drugs, that's all."

"No wonder he's got it in for you. Are you alright though?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Had worse, will have worse, I'm sure." He answered flippantly.

"Any nausea, dizziness, black spots…?" Rose asked in a mockingly professional voice. The Doctor nudged her in the arm as she started giggling again.

"Hey, I'm supposed to be the doctor here!" He pouted as she continued to laugh. Rassilon, that was a musical sound. Who knew humans could make such gorgeous noise?

A far less pleasant noise rent the air, stifling Rose's and the Doctor's giggles at once. The door to the auction room had been thrown open and three guards appeared. Rose sat up instantly, slinking almost unnoticeably closer to the Doctor's side. Two of the guards entered while the other one stayed by the door, glaring down any of the slaves who dared even look in the direction of the exit. The Doctor felt his hearts freeze mid-beat as he noticed the two guards were walking right towards where he and Rose were sitting. In one movement the Doctor wrapped his arm in front of Rose's chest, both shielding her and pulling her closer at the same time.

One of the guards pointed roughly at the Doctor. "MD196305, yer coming with us."

The Doctor stood up quickly, stepping in front of Rose almost subconsciously. "Oh yeah? Why?" He knew perfectly well why, but he growled it nonetheless. This wasn't…he wouldn't be…this couldn't really be happening. Five percent chance, that was it. Was he really being…?

"Predassador's thinking about buying your pathetic bag of bones and skin." The guard snarl back, looking the Doctor up and down as he approached him, seeming unimpressed. "Can't see why, but…"

"You can't have 'im!" Rose suddenly shouted as she jumped to her feet. The Doctor turned just enough to see fear traced, once again, into her features. She grabbed his arm as if her grasp would be enough to keep him there. "Go tell your  _prebassador_  to shove it!"

The smack came so quickly the Doctor hadn't even noticed it until he heard the sharp sound of knuckles striking flesh and Rose crying out in pain. An animalistic growl rumbled out of his throat as he launched himself at the guard who smacked Rose, tossing him backwards into the other guard, who stumbled with surprise under the sudden weight of his comrade.

The Doctor spun around to see Rose cupping her check, eyes alit with unshed tears. He reached up and ran his thumb over his reddened cheek, breath hitching in his throat as he managed to choke out, "It's going to be okay, Rose. I promise. I'll get you –"

He was cut off as he was suddenly grabbed roughly by the arms, the two guards dragging him backwards. The guard who had been stationed at the door had joined them and was approaching Rose, gripping her shoulders and applying enough pressure that her knees buckled beneath her. Instincts flared inside him again. They were hurting her. They were going to keep hurting her. He wasn't there to protect her.

He writhed against the hands dragging him back, bucking and wrenching where he could. He had to get back to her, to say goodbye at least. He thrashed again and by some miracle managed to wiggle his way out of their grasp. He jumped forward, tripping over his own feet in his haste, but it didn't matter. He crashed to his knees right in front of his companion and didn't waste a moment. His hands moved to cup her face, finger brushing away a scared and frustrated tear, and before he could even think about what he was doing he was ducking his head, lips angled for hers, and pulled her into a deep, passionate kiss he had not known he'd been craving until that very moment, when suddenly he wondered how he'd lived without the closeness of Rose, the taste of her lips against his as they were in their bitter farewell.

The kiss ended far too soon. He felt hands encircling his arms again, vice-like, and was jerked away from her again. " _No._ " He heard Rose whisper breathlessly, part stunned and part scared. He was scared too. Something cold and hard had found it's way around one of his wrists and was making it's way around the other, pinning his hands together. The guards continued to pull him, stumbling, backwards with them towards the door.

"NO!" Rose suddenly shouted, trying to stand up against the grip of the guard holding her down, but he was too strong and shoved her back onto the metal floor. Tears were spilling freely down her face now as she watched the Doctor being hauled away from her. He was almost to the door now. Almost gone. "DOCTOR!"

The Doctor didn't take her sorrowful eyes off her until he was thrown through the door, the metal ringing as it was slammed shut behind them. Somewhere in his mind he was aware of Bachir shouting angrily, but he couldn't tell if it was at him or at someone else. It hardly mattered. A numbness had crept over the Doctor. He was being sold. He was being sold as a slave to a stranger. He was being sold as a slave to a stranger who was separating him from his Rose.

He barely noticed as the metal cuffs were tightened around his wrists and a gag was secured over his mouth. He wouldn't be able to speak anyway, he was too afraid he would vomit instead. What happened now? Where was he going? Would he ever see Rose again…?

A shove between the shoulder blades snapped him out of it. He shook his head slightly, annoyed at how the gag forced him to breath through his nose, which had been broken the night before and was still healing. He couldn't think like that, he chastised himself.  _There's a silver lining on every black hole,_ he tried to remind himself as he was escorted roughly out of the room by a posse of four guards. It might be easier to escape his new…owner – he gagged at the word – than it would be to escape this place, and then he could get to work on rescuing Rose and the rest of the unfortunate aliens from the outside.  _It's more like a gray lining,_  he thought with a wince as he realized how many ifs and maybes there were in that loose plan, not to mention the fact that he had no idea how long it would take him and for how long he'd be away from Rose. But it was the best he could come up with right then to keep the shock and tears of frustration at bay.

He was led up another flight of stairs, these at least adorn with a nice carpet that felt unbelievable pleasant on his bare feet. He schooled his features into a mask that appeared neither scared nor angry nor even defeated. Just a dash of defiance in his eyes finished off the look as the door before his was pulled open and he was ushered into the new room.

He almost froze in his tracks, the mask nearly slipping off. The room was quite large with a comfortable low ceiling, deep red carpet, and wood paneled walls on three sides. A few Eyal employees occupied the room as well as an older Drephesh in a suit and a young man with light charcoal gray skin and silver hair that stuck out in all directions in a stylishly windswept way. His buyer, he guessed.

The guards pushed the Doctor forward and kicked out the back of his leg, sending him to his knees. The soft carpet caught him, so it was not too uncomfortable.

The man with the gray skin – the prebassador – had been watching him closely with a curious eye before glancing over at the Drephesh in the suit, one eyebrow quirked at the Doctor's gag. The Drephesh chuckled good-naturedly.

"Company policy." He explained simply. "Especially this one gets a bit mouthy around authority"

The Doctor couldn't help it as he rolled his eyes. The buyer turned back to him in time to catch the eye roll and the Doctor made the distinct intention of looking him squarely in the eyes, which were light gray, a few shades darker than the whites of his eyes and a few shades lighter than his skin. He did not see Bachir in the way the buyer stared back at him, nor did he see Blondie or Rat-Face. He saw something else, but he wasn't entirely sure what. The buyer watched him closely with the same curious intensity he had before, as if trying to see straight through him and being stopped quite suddenly and impolitely just on the surface.

And suddenly the Doctor noticed the forth wall, which was not covered in dark wood paneling. The forth wall was completely made out of glass, creating a window jutting out diagonally from the wall. It was the observation window. And not too far below he could see the other slaves in the stock room, each looking a little less anxious than before, except for one person. The Doctor felt the burn of tears threatening as he watched the guard toss Rose aside as if she were nothing and walk away. Rose landed on her hands and knees, shoulders shaking as she sobbed all by herself. He felt both his hearts break a little at the sight, knowing he was not able to comfort her and would not be able to for a long time.

A blue skinned girl slowly made her way over to Rose. The Doctor almost laughed despite himself as Lalay cautiously bent down beside the sobbing human and wrapped a hesitant arm around her, drawing Rose into a comforting embrace. At least she had Lalay, for now, while he couldn't be there. His appreciation for the Aonian soared ten-fold at the sight. He forced away the tears that were threatening to spill over and tore his gaze from the window. The longer he watched her the harder it was going to be to go through with his plan.

"His designation is MD196305, but if you decide to go through with the deal you may call him whatever you like, of course."

"Do I have to decide right now?" The buyer asked without taking his eyes off the Doctor. The Doctor was surprised to hear him speak with a slight accent, as Drephesh was clearly not his native language. He didn't think these beings were capable of coexisting with other life-forms enough to agree to exchange goods and slaves.

"Of course not." The Drephesh was saying. "We have a twenty-four hour policy in which you can make your decision before the stock's put back on the market. You cannot take him out with you during that time, but you are more than welcome to stay here and get yourself acquainted. We have some lovely guestrooms on the upper levels if you'd be interested."

"Yes, that would be fantastic, thank you."

"Would you like him brought to your room as well, or taken to another holding room in the meantime?"

There was a pause as the man was clearly thinking it over, his eyes glued to the Doctor's as if in a trance. Good, good start…

"Yes, my room, please." The Doctor didn't let the flutter of fear he felt at those words make its way into his mask. The guestrooms? Why was this man having him brought to his room? Unless he was…? The Doctor swallowed lightly and continued to glare up at the buyer with what he hoped was a look of calm defiance. Don't let him see how anxious you are.

The Doctor was suddenly dragged back to his feet and hauled carelessly out of the room. He didn't protest, didn't even attempt to struggle or put up a fight. He just continued to stare intensely at the buyer, already feeling unease and uncertainty creeping into the man's thoughts.

The door snapped shut behind him and he was ushered back down the stairs and through a new hallway lit with lamps and carpeted much like the observation room. The guards all snickered around him as they shoved him down a different hall, and then another. The Doctor didn't even bother trying to remember each of the turns they took. The numbness had taken over him again now that he no longer had a tangible source to focus on. Except for the same thoughts that had been tumbling around his head throughout the whole encounter. He was a slave. He was a slave being sold to a stranger. He was a slave being sold to a stranger who had asked for the Time Lord to be taken to his guestroom. Taken to his guestroom in order to get  _acquainted_ with him.

The Doctor shuddered as they reached a nice wooden door, the guards laughing cruelly on all sides of him, as the door was pushed open. The Doctor swallowed heavily. This was it. Would it be worth it?


	26. Chapter 26

It was by some small miracle that Ren had decided that that night would be a good night to leave. Had he not been so busy preparing a short-range shuttle that would take him to Lacapit, in fact, his blood would already be seeping into the thin carpet of his office floor.

He knew the men were up to something. He could hear them whispering to each other in the mess hall, notice how they gathered 'secretly' in their barracks, see the way they quickly stepped apart and got back to work whenever he would appear around the corner and glared as they saluted. Ren was not dumb. He knew what was coming. He knew the signs of a mutiny in the works.

But still, the sounds of gunshots ringing out the shattered window of his old office made the human jump, shivers running up and down his spine and causing the hairs on the nape of his neck to stand on end. Hurriedly he dashed over to the small overhang that acted as a loading dock for the larger cargo ship, running in a half crouch, and drew a blaster from his belt. The alien weapon now felt comfortable and familiar in his hand, but he still prayed he would not have to use it. Everything would be better if he could fly out of there without anyone being any the wiser, get to Lacapit, and find a flight that would take him to the closest port he could get to Earth. It would still be galaxies and lightyears away from any solar system the humans had yet to discover, but it was the best option he had. Unless, of course, the Doctor had been honest with him and was able to keep well to his promise to be able to get him home.

But the Doctor was in Eyal already. As was Rose, the first human Ren had seen in ten years. Seeing her had sparked a homesickness he had not felt in nearly a decade, creating such a longing to return to the blue and green planet that he almost felt physically nauseous. She was so very human, that Rose. Her pale skin, brown eyes, blonde hair. She reminded him far too much of…

 _Access Denied._  The screen flashed at him for a third time. Ren growled and pulled his thumb away from the scanner. Why wasn't his access code working? He should have the master code to every keypad. He needed to get in in order to unlock the security controls on the shuttle. Without them off the ship with never be able to take off.

Ren spun around suddenly at the sound of a door swinging shut behind him. He squared off his shoulders and raised his gun just as the new arrival did the same.

"I thought you might try to sneak off." Drawled Rat-Face as he leveled his own blaster with the captain's chest. He looked far too smug, smirking at Ren with his horribly thin lips as if he were the possessor of something Ren so desperately needed. Ren grimaced as he clicked the safety off his gun. "Bit of a coward's move, don't you think,  _captain._ "

Ren quirked an eyebrow at the taunt. "Me? A coward? That's rich coming from the man who raped an innocent, helpless woman."

"She was a  _slave._ " Rat-Face sneered carelessly. "Hardly counts as a woman. Besides, you go to have your fun with her, why couldn't the rest of us?" Ren didn't say anything. He kept his glare even with Rat-Face's, everything tinted orange behind his contacts. Then suddenly Rat-Face was laughing. "Oh, but you didn't, did you? Got all doughy-eyed when she stumbled through our door, did you? Did you fall in love,  _captain_?"

"What do you want?" Ren asked tersely. He was growing tired of Rat-Face's pitchy voice.

"I want you to answer for your crimes." Spat Rat-Face.

" _My_ crimes? Of what,  _not_ raping the human girl? I wasn't aware rape and torture were part of our ordinance."

"No!" Rat-Face growled, taking a hasty step forward. "For treating us like slaves, forcing us to do slave work in the mines.  _Murdering Crvas in cold blood._ We are Drephesh, living beings!"

"As was Rose." Ren shot back. "As was the Doctor. Living beings just like you and I, but that didn't stop you and Crvas from torturing him either, did it?"

"This isn't about that alien scum anymore. It's about you stepping down from your post with a bullet between your eyes."

Ren frowned with mock sympathy. "You were never a very good shot, you know that. Why do you think I've been keeping you on base and off missions this whole time? You really think you can get off a round before I can?" Ren almost laughed at how much this suddenly sounded like the showdown at the OK Corral.

"I know I'm a bad shot!" Rat-Face snapped back viciously. "But it doesn't even matter if I bring you down now or not, you're never getting that shuttle's security down."

Ren felt dread fill his chest. "You iced out my access." He realized with a pang of panic. Without a valid print, not only could he not unlock the security on the shuttle, but he would never be able to get a seat on any ship off planet. He wouldn't even be able to purchase a bag of peanuts. A finger print wasn't just for identification, it was his entire existence in this society.

But even in his stunned stupor, Ren could still see Rat-Face cock the hammer on his gun and begin to take aim. He acted impulsively.

_BANG!_

Rat-Face screamed in pain as the laser-tipped bullet ripped through his kneecap. He dropped like a rock, curling in and clutching his already blood-soaked leg. Over his cursing and hysterics, Ren heard the radio on Rat-Face's belt cackle to life and the voice of one of the men he knew was involved in planning the mutiny. "What was that? We just heard a gunshot and screaming. Have you got him? What's your position?"

Ren snatched the radio off Rat-Face's hip and chucked it over the edge of the open-aired shuttle launch pad. Rat-Face was still shouting and cursing in Drephesh. Ren needed to shut him up before someone else heard them and came looking.

He raised the gun again, aiming at Rat-Face, and suddenly all the pain and anger melted off the rodent's face, replaced with sheer and total terror. "N-n-n-n-no, please! I'm sorry! I'm s-s-sorry! I'll do anything, p-please."

Ren gave a disgusted sneer. "Who's the coward now?" With a flick of his wrist he flipped the gun around and rammed the butt of it into Rat-Face's temple. He was knocked out instantly.

With great effort, Ren replaced the blaster back in its holster. He really wanted to shoot him. Really, really badly. But instead he grabbed Rat-Face's wrist and dragged his dead weight over to the door. Ren's print access may have been iced, but Rat-Face's surely wouldn't be. If anything his priority level would have been heightened due to his involvement in the uprising. It would have been so much easier to just kill Rat-Face or cut off his thumb, but the print needed to be live, and the scanner could detect a pulse beneath the skin.

And sure enough, the door swung open to Rat-Face's touch. Sure that his services would be needed again, Ren bent down and pulled the Drephesh over his shoulder fireman style and hurried into the flight control room.

The password for the shuttle launch system had mercifully not been tampered with, and soon enough the screen was beeping that he was clear for takeoff. He hurried back to the shuttle, staggering under the weigh of Rat-Face's limp body. Ren could feel warm, sticky blood dripping down his side from Rat-Face's leg. He threw the Drephesh on board and secured him with a pair of handcuffs he still had on his utility belt before dashing away to get the shuttle off the ground. His heart beat was pounding in his ears as he saw a large majority of what used to be his men turn and take aim at the ship with their blasters. Their bullets didn't even reach the hull.

Once the shuttle was in the air, Ren set it on cruise and stood from the pilot's chair. Now that his adrenaline had faded away the direness of the situation began to stand out to him. He had no where to go; not back to the outpost, certainly his access wouldn't allow him into the city, and this shuttle was only designed and equipped for short-range flights

He only had one option. It was daft and stupid and foolish and would most likely get more than just himself killed, but he was out of all other ideas. He set the autopilot coordinates to a spot out in the middle of the desert where his men had encountered and captured the most recent batch of native Drepheshie slaves as well as two mysteries. As the ship turned around, Ren returned his attention to Rat-Face's unconscious form, slumped on the ground. He pulled a switchblade from his belt and prayed that God was still rooting for him, even after all this time.

* * *

"What do you say, should we warm the pretty thing up?"

One of the guards taunted as he tossed the Doctor against the bed. Arms still pinned behind his back, gag still in place, the Doctor could do nothing as the backs of his knees hit the edge of the mattress and he collapsed backwards into the deep duvet. His back arched up from where his hands were pressed between the bed and his spine.

The guard that had spoken before grabbed the Doctor's hips and yanked him harshly towards the edge of the bed so his body slid over the smooth covers, straddling his legs. Terror overpowered resolve to flood his mind as the Doctor struck out with the only free appendage he still have, his first choice weapon still caged behind the gag.

The guard dodged his foot easily enough and started laughing. "Pretty thing's got a nasty side." The other three snickered. "Keep acting like that and people will start to think you don't want this, little whore."

 _I_ don't  _want this!_ The Doctor protested silently. He didn't like this guard calling him pretty and he  _certainly_ didn't like being called a whore. If this is what he would have to go through with the Prebassador in order to get out and rescue Rose, so be it, he could tolerate that. But like hell he was going to allow one of the guards to have his way with him as well without putting up a fight.

Then another one of the guards – the one that had been hanging back the most while they taunted and poked at the bound Time Lord – stepped forward and, laughing, placed a hand on the first guard's shoulder. "That's enough, Drewan, you're scaring the thing. It's not able to tell that you're joking."

The Doctor relaxed minutely. Of course. Of course they wouldn't dare touch somebody else's  _property,_ even if he was technically just on trial.

The first guard sniggered anyway and, apparently ignoring his comrade, reached once more for the Doctor's hips. This time his fingers found the waistband of the gray sweatpants the Doctor had been given and hooked over the edge, pulling down. The Doctor saw red, the color of absolute dread. "Oh, I know," Drewan was saying, "I just like to watch them squirm – OUCH!"

On instinct the Doctor had kicked out again, this time his knee making contact with the guard's soft stomach. The Doctor instantly knew he was in trouble. The guard growled and instead grabbed the Doctor's ankles and jerked him off the bed. Unable to do anything, the Doctor's body slumped over the edge and his shoulders and the back of his head slammed into the floor. A muffled  _uff_ escaped through the gag. Black spots danced across his vision. The guard rammed his boot into the Doctor's side and he groaned through the muzzle, eyes screwed up against the pressure of his bruised ribs.

"Drewan, enough." A stern voice suddenly cut across the laughter of the other guards. The Doctor's eyes flew open to see Bachir striding into the room. Drewan took the tiniest step back from the Doctor's crumpled body, still glaring. Bachir looked down his ridged nose at his ward with disgust. "I'll deal with you later, 305. Now take the position."

Struggling with his hands bound so tightly, the Time Lord managed to roll onto his side and push himself up into a kneeling position. Apparently it wasn't good enough for Bachir, however. The Drephesh grabbed the back collar of the Doctor's shirt and hurled him towards the center of the room. The Doctor crashed to the floor again, unable to break the fall, before pushing himself up once more, keeping his angry and scared eyes on the floor.

"Where he can see you, you dumb animal." Bachir growled with annoyance. The Doctor just barely held back a dirty look.  _How the hell was I supposed to know that?_ He hissed mentally, hoping that through some kind of telepathic network Bachir could feel his hatred for him. The keeper made no signs of such a thing.

"Guards, you are dismissed." He continued without taking his eyes off the kneeling Time Lord. "And if you ever touch my charge again without my express permission, you will be joining it in it's training. Understood?"

There were a couple mumbled "Yes, sir"s before the guards turned and left, leaving the Doctor and his keeper alone.

The Doctor didn't dare look up as Bachir came to stand directly over him. His shoulders shook slightly with both anger and fear. With a deep breath through his nose, the Doctor try to steady them. His keeper was furious, of that he was sure, and he wouldn't put it passed the Drephesh to try to punish him for something that was completely out of his control. But instead Bachir kneeled down in front of the Doctor and took his chin in hand so as to lift up the Doctor's face. His eyes were cold as the Doctor stared defiantly back at him, struggling with that tiny voice lingering in the back of his head that told him that slaves weren't to look their superiors in the eye. That voice was becoming a nuisance.

"I know it wouldn't be hard for something as low as you," Bachir began. "But  _try_ to avoid looking desirable. I don't know what Prebassador Ligtech wants with you, but he is messing with my plans. He will be here any moment now."

And sure enough, the Doctor could already hear footsteps coming down the hallway towards them. His shoulders tensed instantly. Bachir stood and moved to stand behind the Doctor as the door opened and the man with the charcoal gray skin and silver hair entered, followed by the Drephesh in a suit from earlier. They appeared to have been in the middle of a conversation when they reached the door, for the president was still saying, "Unfortunately we don't know what species it is yet, but if it's eluded our extensive database of species then I can guarantee you that whatever it is must be exceptionally rare. Exotic even, some could say."

The Doctor thought he sounded like a car salesman and he almost laughed before remembering that  _he_  was the car.

"And he hasn't told you what he is?" The Prebassador asked curiously, inspecting the Doctor from where he knelt on the floor.

The president appeared uncomfortable for a split second. "No." Bachir gave a clipped answer for him. "This one is extremely difficult around authority, any attempts to break through to it have proven unsuccessful."

"Well, not  _all_ attempts, Bachir." The president laughed nervously. "It seems perfectly obedient right now, for instance."

"You are the creature's keeper?" The Prebassador turned his attention away from the Doctor for the first time since meeting him. Bachir nodded his acknowledgement. "And what is your opinion of it?"

Bachir glanced at the president for a quick second, an entire conversation happening in the short look. He turned back to the Prebassador with a steely look in his orange eyes. "I personally do not think it is worth either your time or your money, Prebassador. It is disobedient, arrogant, and far more trouble than the money you would be paying for it. I believe you could find your happiness in the purchase of a properly trained slave instead, especially since this one isn't even officially for sale."

The president looked like he was about to do a facepalm. The Prebassador frowned as he looked the Doctor over again. "Can you have him stand?"

Bachir yanked the Doctor's arm up and the Time Lord quickly struggled to his feet. He stood between Bachir and the Prebassador, an inch or two taller than both of them, and tried to fix on that defiant mask again. The Prebassador's frown deepened. "Well he's skeletal." He pointed out, not sounding the least bit impressed. "Just skin and bones. Do you not feed your charges, keeper?"

The president jumped in quickly, probably guessing how Bachir was going to respond. "It was even worse when we found it, Prebassador. Barely alive, not able to survive on it's own in the wild. We've had it on a steady meal plan of all the essential minerals and vitamins to get it back on track, but we think it might have something to do with it's specie's metabolism. It is improving, however slowly."

The Doctor's eyes lit up briefly as he laughed at the outright lie. The Prebassador seemed to have heard, as he turned to him quickly and, to the Doctor's utter surprise, smiled conspiratorially at him.

"Well, just the sight of him is making me hungry. Could you send for a meal from the kitchens for me to be brought here while we get better acquainted?"

The sparkle of laughter died in the Doctor's eyes at that. Oh, yes, he  _was_ there in order to get 'better acquainted' with this man. The Prebassador didn't actually seem dangerous, if the Doctor was being honest, but there will always be men like that, capable of inflicting horrendous deeds with a charming smile on their face. The Doctor could actually name a few right then and there, some even in the very same room as them.

"Of – of course, Prebassador Ligtech." The president said in surprise. "Bachir, go alert the kitchen." Bachir glared between the president and the Prebassador before muttering a "yes, sir" and sweeping from the room. "I assume you'd like to be alone now?" The president asked good-naturedly.

"Yes please." The president gave a small bow before heading towards the door. "Oh, and Mr. President? Is there a key? For the handcuffs, I mean."

The president reached into his pocket and handed the Prebassador a small key. The Prebassador thanked him and then the two of them – the slave and the buyer – were left alone.

"Those must be extremely uncomfortable." The Prebassador suddenly stated after a small silence. "Come here." He moved behind the Doctor, who tensed at the close proximity, not sure what the Prebassador was going to do to him. His hearts were racing, but he fought to keep it from showing in his face. He felt a sudden tugging on his wrists and heard a faint  _click_ before his arms fell apart, free of the cuffs. He brought them around in front of his chest, massaging the wrists to get the circulation flowing again.

"You can remove the gag as well." The Prebassador pointed out. "You'll be needing the use of your mouth back."

The Doctor repressed a shudder at what those words might be implying, but otherwise obliged, unclasping the material behind his head. He rotated his jaw, hearing it click in his ears, before shaking his head. "Ah, that's better." He decided to go with a relaxed tone, attempting to show indifference to the whole situation. He even threw in a charming smile, just for effect. "Although, I might want to warn you, you'll most definitely be getting a loogie in your soup tonight."

The Prebassador raised an eyebrow. "Thank you for the warning. And why do you believe that?"

With a shrug, the Doctor spun around, feigning interest in a painting hanging on the wall behind him. "Bachir doesn't take kindly to being ordered around. Trust me, I know, and he isn't very happy with you to begin with."

The Prebassador chuckled lightly. The Doctor turned in time to see the smile still on his face, white teeth showing brilliantly against the dark gray of his skin. He was actually quite hansom if the Doctor was going to be honest. Young and confident. Far too young to be so confident and far too confident for his age. And he was far too comfortable around subjugated beings, the Doctor thought, yet courteous enough to consider their own comfort as well. Something about him simply didn't add up, but quite suddenly the Doctor was sure that if it ever did, the final sum would not be anything the Doctor could predict. And he was  _very_ good at reading people…most of the time.

"A slave who speaks so freely of his masters. Definitely an interesting character trait."

The Doctor turned around with a snort, mimicking the confidence the Prebassador emitted. "Bachir is hardly my  _master._ " He said calmly.

"Then who is?"

The Doctor chortled at the simple question and turned back around. "Not him and certainly not anyone in the facility at this particular moment."

The Prebassador laughed again at the Doctor's silent statement. He strode over to the bed, which the Doctor had pointedly avoided moving towards, and removed his jacket, draping it over the footboard. The Doctor began to walk slowly around the opposite side of the room, taking in the warm colors of the furniture in conjunction with the deep red of the carpet and the dark stained wood paneling on the walls. Everything about the appearance of the room made him feel warm and comfortable, which he supposed was the point. It was the most warm and comfortable room he'd been in in months.

"What is your name, boy?" The Prebassador suddenly asked, cutting through the momentary silence. The Doctor quirked an eyebrow.

"Shouldn't you be asking me what's my number? Isn't that how we're belittling and depersonalizing sentient beings nowadays?"

"If I had asked you for your number I would have asked you for your number." The Prebassador stated in a flat, expectant voice.

"Yeah, well, fair enough I suppose." The Doctor responded with a shrug. "Besides, that would have been quite forward of you, wouldn't it be? At least buy me a drink first."

"I'm pretty sure I've already taken care of that."

The Doctor stopped his slow pacing and quickly raised his eyes to meet the Prebassador's own gray one's. He honestly didn't know what to make of that statement. It hadn't been said threateningly, and his face showed no signs of being malicious.

"Your name?" The Prebassador asked again. The Doctor swallowed before dipping his head a little bit.

"John Smith."

The Prebassador nodded slightly, considering the name. He actually looked a bit…disappointed? As if he had been hoping he'd say someone else. Then he shook himself out of the look and stepped forward, striding towards the Doctor. The Time Lord resisted the desire to step backwards and away from him. But then the Prebassador did something the Doctor had thoroughly not been expecting. He held out his hand as if to shake the Doctor's. "I am Jancon Ligtech, Prebassador to the planet Shelwick and the surrounding systems, including Drephia." The Doctor stared at the offered hand, hesitant, before cautiously reaching out and grasping it. Jancon's fingers tightened around his in a well-practiced grip that showed no sign of reluctance at touching something from such low a status as the Doctor's. "I feel we are going to be working very closely together, Mr. Smith." Jancon said lowly. "We must get comfortable with each other."

Again, the words he used were something the Doctor didn't like to hear, but the way in which they were said almost made them seem non-suggestive, as it had with many other things the prebassador had said before. But just the same, the Doctor had no idea how to respond. He just nodded, detesting the taste of no words to come back with.

There was a rap on the door and Jancon stepped away. "Enter." He called, and the door swung open to reveal one of the slaves Eyal employed for itself carrying in a tray of food. The Doctor's stomach did a somersault as his nose was assaulted with the delicious smells. Real, proper food was placed on the small table standing to the side. Exotic steamed vegetables, a hardy chunk of something that resembled chicken but was a little more yellow glazed with a caramelized onion and apple topping, a fluffy white pile of what the Doctor knew was the same thing served to the slaves in their lukewarm broth, only prepared correctly and deliciously and smothered in butter. A fresh water jug was placed beside it, little droplets of condensation forming along it. His stomach growled its approval to the array, much to the Doctor's embarrassment.

The other slave left silently. So engrossed with desire for something to eat, the Doctor hardly noticed as Jancon swept back across the room and gathered up his jacket. "Sit. Eat." He instructed as he pulled on the jacket. "I have other things to attend to at the moment. I'll return to collect you later, so I expect you to be prepared to leave."

The Doctor's eyebrows nearly met in the middle as he turned to the Prebassador. "What? That's it?" He asked, astonished.

"That's all I need, for now. Later we will have a more personal, in depth introduction to each other, but it will have to wait." He went to the door and was about to turn the handle when he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "And, please, don't make me regret my decision – Mr. Smith. It will not be pleasant for all parties involved, of that I can assure you."

And with that threat he swept from the room, leaving the Doctor all by himself. For a few minutes the Time Lord just stood there, staring at the rather boring wooden door.  _That's it?_ He kept asking himself. That was certainly not what he'd been expecting, though he wasn't particularly about to complaining about it.

With small, hesitant steps, the Doctor moved silently across the room to the door. He distinctly had not heard it click locked before when Jancon had left. If, for some reason, the door had been unwisely left unlocked, the Doctor could easily slip through and go find Rose and an escape route.

He placed his hand on the doorknob and, holding his breath, slowly began to twist it open. Just as he had suspected, the door was unlocked. He pulled it open carefully, still not daring to breath, but then let out a disappointed sigh as he came face-to-face with a guard stationed outside the door. The guard quickly stood up from where he'd been leaning against the opposite wall and began making his way over to the Doctor, hand reach for a familiar cattle-prod at his belt. But the Doctor just waved him off with a lazy, defeated flick of the wrist. "Oh, never mind." He sighed again and pulled the door shut in front of him for the guard, retreating back into the room. It wasn't worth the effort to try and get passed him, he knew he would lose. He was too tired and the guard was too well equipped. He would certainly rather not feel the bite of the cattle-prod again.

_Speaking of bite…_

Pretty soon the smell of the untouched food wafted over to him again. Cautiously he made his way over to the table. The meat was still steaming, the butter having melted perfectly into the potato-like mash that smelled faintly of habisja, a garlic-like herb found on the planets of this system. His mouth began to water almost uncontrollably. He picked up the jug of water and gave it a quick sniff. Just like water should, it smelt of nothing. He smiled to himself. They believed the food and drink had been for Jancon, and therefore obviously would not dare to put in the drug. He fingered the rim of the jug, the pad of his finger collecting little bits of water along them. Such a simple gift was too good to resist. He poured himself a glass of the clear liquid and chugged it back, savoring the taste of authentic, pure water.

He hesitated over the food. He wasn't exactly going against any order by eating…Jancon  _had_ in fact told him to eat, so in actuality he would be  _disobeying_ if he did not. Who knew when would be the next time he would be able to eat, and especially eat something as intricate and delicious as this looked. Then he began to wonder if he would even be able to stomach such rich food after so long going without. The potato mash would probably be no problem because it was so simple and bland, even with the butter, but the meat would certainly not work out in his best interest.

The Doctor drank another sip of water, quenching his chapped lips and raw throat. His stomach growled one more time in encouragement and the Doctor sat and, picking up the fork delicately, began to eat. Just as his owner had ordered.

* * *

Two hours and seventeen minutes went by without the Prebassador reappearing. The Doctor had gratefully devoured the potato mash and a few of the vegetables before admittedly feeling rather full. His stomach must have shrunk a surprising amount in order to compensate for his small rations over the last few weeks. He felt bad for not attempting to eat the meat, but honestly felt as if it wasn't going to work in his favor. The smell of the glaze, however – sweet from the apples and tangy from the onions - still taunted him from across the room.

The Doctor was lounging across the bed on his stomach, legs kicked up at the knees and hooked together in the air, as he flipped through the pages of some old Drepheshie book. There was a small bookshelf meant for decoration in the room, and the Doctor had found an ancient book about interplanetary ballroom dancing courtship – an extremely bizarre book to have in the guestroom of a slave trader. His eyes scanning across the pages at lightening speeds, savoring the activity of reading again. The bed was so comfortable and his stomach so full that the Doctor felt as if he could easily fall asleep right then and there for a very long time, but refused to be caught in such a vulnerable position in case Jancon were to return. The opportunity, however, was almost too good to allow himself to ignore. Who knew if he'd be sleeping in that cage again. He had so far received no news about whether Jancon had decided on the purchase yet or not.

Just as he was coming to the end of the book, he heard footsteps coming up the hallway again.  _Speak of the devil…_  He turned over and sat up, placing the book pages down on the bed beside him so as to hold his spot. No knock came as the door was pushed open, but Jancon was not the one who stepped through the door. Vadim came through holding a tray carrying only a few cotton pads, some disinfectant, a vile of some clear liquid, and a syringe. The Doctor frowned. He had no injuries, why was the slave doctor here?

"It really should come as no surprise to me that you know how to read." Vadim commented lightly, shutting the door behind him. The Doctor picked up the book and snapped it shut. Vadim glanced at the cover as he placed the tray on the table beside the half-eaten food. "Interplanetary Ballroom Dancing?" He asked with a chuckle. "Not exactly an advanced study."

"Well, you learn something new from something new every day." The Doctor moved to sit over the edge of the bed, already missing the deep warmth of the blankets. "Do  _you_  know what an arabesque is, doctor?"

"I certainly can't say I do,  _John_."

The Doctor glanced up from where he'd been staring at his hands, completely surprised. Surely he had heard wrong. Vadim just chuckled again.

"The Prebassador just paid and signed all the releases, and on your papers he decided to give you back your original name."

"He…he paid already?"  _I've been purchased…_

Vadim nodded. "Just now after visiting another slave. Apparently he preferred you. Not surprising, I might add. You're clearly an intelligent, clever being and the female he chose to meet after was…well, a bit plain if you ask me. Now give me your arm."

He pulled out a disinfectant wipe and held out his hand expectantly for the Doctor's arm. The Doctor hesitated briefly before extending it. Vadim rubbed the wipe over the crook of the Doctor's elbow before sticking the needle of the syringe into the vial and pulling out a bit of the drug inside. He squirted a bit of the clear liquid out of the end, testing it. The Doctor watched it hit the ground.

"What's in that?" He asked nervously, remembering the last time these people had injected him with some foreign substance. He had ended up writhing and convulsing on the ground, nearly dead.

Vadim glanced up from his work. "Roznesthylicprofen, only with the acetylsalicylic acid removed on account of your allergies. Unfortunately, you're going to wake up with one horrible space-sickness headache."

The Doctor shivered at the name of the familiar drug. It was the same he and Rose had been given on the flight to Eyal. Only, without the elements of aspirin the mixture was perfectly safe. "I think a headache is more manageable than the alternative." He muttered as Vadim slid back over to him. "Elements of Rozerem, Perphenazine, and Ibuprofen, am I right? So it will still knock me out."

"That's the idea." Vadim replied flippantly as he tied off a rubber band around the Doctor's upper arm, feeling for a good vein. "It is rather unfortunate I was never able to properly study you. I believe Drephia could greatly benefit from your obvious knowledge. But unfortunately the Prebassador came in with a wallet just a little bit too big to refuse. Now hold still."

He jammed the syringe into the Doctor's arm. The Doctor hissed at the pressure building in his veins as the drug was injected, and instantly he began to feel drowsy. The warm colors of the room began to blend together, blurring and fading in front of him. He didn't notice as Vadim placed a hand behind his back and carefully lowered him down onto the bed. Didn't hear as the doctor announced a team would be coming to transport him to Jancon's shuttle. All he noticed was that the covers of the bed seemed to be consuming him, blocking off his vision from the edges inwards, getting ready to spit him out again in his new home, with his new owner.


	27. Chapter 27

He dreamt of a giant ashen snake with pallid eyes. This in itself was strange. He rarely ever dreamed. He rarely ever slept. And yet here it felt as if it had been a century since he had last seen the conscious world, courting the gray serpent whose eyes glistened with comfort and assurance even as its barbed fangs sank into his flesh.

He awoke not with a jolt but with a groan as his dream-world's life source was sucked from him, replaced with a pounding in his head. So intense was the headache that the Doctor actually felt nauseous. With great effort due to his lead-filled limbs, the Doctor rolled over onto his side and curled up, arms folded and pressed against his stomach. Vadim had been right; space-sickness was not a pleasant experience. Oh, how he missed his TARDIS, with her protective shields and immunity boosters. He wondered where his beloved ship was now and if she was still parked in the middle of the desert where they had left her, or if some whack-job from Ren's outpost had found her and taken her into custody as well. The Doctor smiled lightly at the though of Eyal's minions trying to break through her doors. If they had thought the Doctor had been difficult, they had  _no_ idea.

As he smiled he felt his cheek brush against something soft, and for the first time was aware that his head was resting on something deep and warm. And not just his head, but his entire body. His fingers tugged at something covering him and he realized it was a blanket. He was lying in a bed.  _Well…that was unexpected._

There was a loud  _creak_  of a door being opened and the Doctor flew upright, body expecting to feel the sharp stab of the usual morning electricity at any moment. It never came, but instead the pain in his head spiked to appalling levels. The Doctor hissed as he went to clutch at his head, wondering madly if it was possible to end the pain simply by pulling his head clean off his neck and shoulders.

"Careful, boy!" An unfamiliar female voice reprimanded him from somewhere beyond his screwed-shut eyes. "You're not well yet, you'll injure yourself again. Oh, and here comes the nose-bleeding. Orange blood all over my clean white sheets – again. Here, hold this to it."

The Doctor felt a hand press a soft handkerchief to his nose and tilt his head backwards. He forced one eye to open enough to see an elderly plump woman standing over him wearing an apron and a stern, yet concerned expression. She nodded approvingly as she noticed his eyes were open. "Good to see you're finally awake. Space-sickness is a nasty business. You'd think they would have come up with a cure by now."

"How long –" Croaked the Doctor before realizing his throat was too dry to go on.

"Thirty-six hours. Drink." She shoved a cup of water into the Doctor's hand, which he gratefully gulped down. There was a faint metallic tang where he assumed his blood had run down his nose and over his lips. The liquid instantly soothed his parched throat. He went to set the cup on the table beside his bed, and that's when he realized he was wearing shackles around his wrists. Not uncomfortable ones. The cuffs were made of soft leather so as not to chaff and the chain connecting them was relatively thin and lengthy, so that there was a reasonable amount of slack between them to make his movements easier. He frowned at them nonetheless. "W-why?"

The woman shrugged. "We weren't sure what kind of temperament you would have when you awoke. A precaution, if you will. While you are in your room you need not wear them; However, whenever you set foot out into the main estate I will be forced to replace them. A necessary precaution as well as a reminder of your status."

"As a slave…" The Doctor mumbled, more so to himself. "What – what does…Jancon want with m-me?"

The woman gave him a stern look. "You will refer to Prebassador Ligtech as 'master' or 'sir' only."

"You don't." The Doctor blurted out quietly without really thinking. The woman raised her chin and stared down at him.

" _I_ am not a  _slave._ " She stated pointedly. "Which makes me a higher authority than you. You seem unfamiliar with the expectations of your position, so I shall make it abundantly clear to you: You are of the lowest status here. Even the Prebassador's pets are higher in value than you. Therefore even if a simple servant were to demand a task from you, it is outside your ability to deny them unless the Prebassador or I have given you an express contradictory order. Do you understand?"

The Doctor nodded shallowly, his head still ringing. The woman placed her hands on her hips and nodded sharply. "Good. I am Mrs. Sinh, I'm in charge of the estate staff. The Prebassador sent me to inform you that you are expected to meet with him before supper in order to receive your orders for the night. Until then I can remove your shackles and you're free to rest, eat, there's a bathroom through that door there with a shower so you can wash up; so long as you remain in your room, you are free to do as you please. I'll have a staff member return to collect you in an hour."

With that, she removed his shackles and left, locking the door behind her. The Doctor collapsed back into the pillow as soon as she was gone, releasing a loud puff of air through his nose. His head still hurt, but the water had definitely helped. He glanced over at the tray Mrs. Sinh left on his bedside table, which held a stack of buttered bread, a water jug, and a bowl of dark brown broth, hot and appropriately salty. The Doctor dunked the bread in until it was soggy before scarfing it down, enjoying the mixture of flavors.

His mind, which had been so foggy before he hadn't been able to really register what Mrs. Sinh was saying, was clearing now. He now truly remember that had happened, and with a resounding sigh he rubbed his tired eyes and stood. He grabbed the edge of the table as he lost balance for a second before recovering. The room was sparse, decorated only with a plain bed, dresser, and bedside table. There were two doors, one that apparently led to the bathroom and the other to the exit. The Doctor moved towards the latter and tested the door. Sturdy and locked. "Oh well," He sighed to himself. "Long shot anyways."

He went to the bathroom next and turned on the shower, gratefully stripping out of the gray outfit he'd been given at Eyal. The hot water running over him was the most amazing feeling in the universe. He finally got to scrub his  _own_ hair clean, no foreign fingernails digging viciously into his scalp or wandering over his exposed flesh. He stayed in there much longer than necessary, letting the scorching water burn the experiences of the last 6 weeks from his skin. He stepped out feeling so much more like his old self again that he even smiled.

He dried off and, wrapping the towel around his thin waist, exited the steamy bathroom.

"Oh! Blimey!"

The Doctor jumped backwards, his back hitting the bathroom door behind him, hand jumping to the towel to ensure it stayed in place. He hadn't been expecting to return to someone waiting for him in his room.

The girl seemed startled as well, although she recovered much quicker that the Doctor did. "I apologize, I didn't mean to frighten you!" She exclaimed quickly.

"What? Me? Frightened? Naw!" The Doctor waved a nonchalant hand through the air between them as his hearts stopped their pounding. "I just wasn't expecting to run into a strange woman in my room while I'm half naked. Not really a common occurrence for me. Although, actually, now that I think about it, it does seem to happen to me pretty often…what, am I turning into Jack? Oh, I'm sorry, I'm rambling…and I'm still half naked…not really a good mix…"

The girl blushed noticeably, which was quite an accomplishment considering her skin was already bright red. She instantly reminded him of Lalay. "You're Aonian, aren't you?"

"Well…yes, we are on Shelwick." She laughed lightly. The Doctor's eyebrows shot upwards with his smile.

"Oh, really! That's exciting! I haven't been to Shelwick in over a century! But then again, that  _was_ a century into your future, so really if we're getting technical it's been two centuries…I'm rambling again."

The girl gave him a strange look. "Yes, you are. Well, I brought you some new clothes." She indicated a pile of neatly folded black clothes on his bed. "Prebassador Ligtech inquired with your old masters as to what you were wearing when you were captured – I think he wants you to feel as comfortable as you can with something familiar. Your old clothes were destroyed, of course, but hopefully these will fit."

"Thank you." Said the Doctor as he looked over the button-down shirt and trousers. "But…black's not really my color."

"I'm sorry, but those in slavery are required to wear only black clothes. A sign of –"

"My status." He finished for her, looking down briefly at his own feet. She gave him a genuine look of sympathy.

"Once you're dressed and ready I can take you up to the main estate. I'll just…wait outside. Knock when you're ready."

The Doctor dressed quickly in his all-black ensemble. The trousers were a little large, but they came with a belt so he didn't complain too much. It was nice being back in real clothes again, although he did note that no shoes were provided for him. An expense he was not worthy of or a precaution to keep him from trying to run away, he wasn't sure, although these clothes did not look much like the usual attire of a slave so he doubted it was the first option.

Once he was done and ran a towel through his dripping hair, he knocked on the door and the girl began to lead him up to the estate. With another apologetic look she replaced the shackles around his wrists, but the chain between was long enough that he could still stick his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

"I'm John, by the way." He announced as they made their way out of what must have been the servant's quarters. "John Smith. What's yours?"

"Coria."

"Lovely name. Coria."

The night was lovely as well. Dusk had arrived, and just like how Lalay had described, the sky was turning into its signature purple with the turquoise streaks. The estate rose high above them as they walked across the expanse of bluegrass – a real estate monster that resembled a Caribbean style vacation home back on earth (only about a hundred times larger than any the Doctor had seen) with all its open walls and tropical style design, fitting for the climate of Shelwick.

Coria led him through a side door that moved them through the kitchens. Servants hustled and bustled around, preparing meals and shouting orders, and some froze to watch the new slave being dragged through their midst. "Back to work." Mrs. Sinh's voice called from somewhere over the din.

The Doctor tried to gather in every detail, but Coria was walking too fast, her pace practiced as she wove through hall after hall after staircase. Soon they exited onto a giant patio with large pillars holding up a third floor from the open-aired area. Sconces burned along the tan red walls and numerous native plants added a vibrant splash of color from where they'd been potted.

"The Prebassador should be arriving momentarily." Coria informed him. "I must return to the kitchens, so if you could just stay here for now."

The Doctor nodded to her. She smiled, cocking her head to the side. "You know, you don't act very much like a slave."

"That's because I'm not a slave." She laughed kindly at that.

"We're all slaves, John. Even the 'free servants' must come to terms with that. Goodnight."

She left quickly after that, vanishing behind a large potted plant into what the Doctor assumed was a hidden door. He turned around, walking over to the railing on the edge of the patio. Shelwick was absolutely beautiful at night. Below he could see a large garden with a stream babbling through it. A large white bird with skinny legs stalked through the carefully manicured water-plants and weeds. And up above, the stars glistened against the purple sky, vibrant and bright so far away from heavy city lights. The Doctor leaned against the railing, chin resting in the palm of his hand, and smiled up at the sky. How long had it been since he'd last seen stars? Far, far too long for the space traveler who was born to the universe, determined to visit every single one before he finally ran out of regenerations and drops dead. He would be out there again soon, the Doctor promised himself. Traveling the stars with Rose Tyler by his side.

"Beautiful, isn't it." Jancon's voice suddenly came from behind him. The Doctor was so at peace with his surroundings, seeing the stars again, that he didn't even jump at the arrival of his 'master'. He nearly responded, opening him mouth to comment on the scenery, when another voice interrupted his thought.

"Yes, he really is beautiful."

The Doctor turned around slowly to see Jancon standing in the torchlight, his arm around a tall, thin woman with light gray skin and silver hair dyed with dark purple streaks. Her white eyes raked him up and down and suddenly he felt like he was just wearing that towel again. He shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny and cleared his throat.

"Is he for me?" She asked, glancing hopefully up at Jancon. The Prebassador laughed.

"No, my darling Ilaria, not this one. This one's for me. He's going to be working on my special project." He added in a quieter voice that the Doctor still easily could catch.

Ilaria pouted and continued to speak as if the Doctor weren't actually there. "Oh, but he is pretty..."

"And rare," Jancon added appreciatively. Then he smirked and stared pointedly into the Doctor's eyes. "The last of the Time Lords. A prize indeed."

The Doctor's hearts froze. He pressed his back against the railing, mind spinning, breath catching. How did he – how did he know? Had he told Eyal? Surely not, or else they would not have sold him, or would be coming back to reclaim him.

Jancon laughed lightly at the look of surprise and barely masked dread on the Doctor's face. He turned to his companion, pressing his face into her long hair as he pecked her cheek. "Go on inside, darling, I'll meet you there later."

With a disappointed pout, Ilaria left through a large open archway, sashaying away from the two men. Jancon watched her leave before turning back to the Doctor, who had taken time during the brief distraction to straighten himself up and reaffirm his mask. Jancon studied him for a moment before taking a sip of his wine and striding forward.

"Yes, I know what you are." He said conversationally as he leaned against the rail beside the Doctor. "You need not be afraid, I haven't told a soul outside this estate. Although those idiots down at Eyal seem to be lacking in the brains department as of late; not even recognizing the physiology of a Gallifreyan when they see one."

"Yep, well, you caught me." The Doctor replied lightly. "How  _did_  you know, though? I wasn't exactly shouting it from the rooftops when you came to meet me."

"I have access to all of Eyal's records." He answered proudly. "Illegally, of course, but who's going to turn me in? I've done extensive studies on Gallifrey – call it an interest of mine, a hobby if you will – and when I saw that a slave had been captured who fit all the physiological traits of one I had to see for myself."

"Well, congratulations. Not many species in the universe even know what a Time Lord is, let alone how to recognize one."

"Hmm." Jancon accepted the compliment.

"So, what am I now? A trophy?" The Doctor asked, honestly curious as to why Jancon had purchased him. The Prebassador laughed.

"Hardly." He turned around so he was staring out across the expanse of his estate. "I prefer my trophies a little more…feminine, if you get my drift."

The Doctor did. There was a short pause between them as Jancon took another sip of his wine. "Although it is actually beautiful, isn't it?" And now this time the Doctor knew he was talking about the scenery. "Have you ever been to Shelwick, Mr. Smith?"

"A long time ago in your future." The Doctor said cryptically as he turned to stare with Jancon. "A time when slavery is outlawed by this land."

Jancon laughed again. His laughter was always full of genuine mirth and never sounded cruel and merciless like most of the guards' had. "Touché Mr. Smith, although I don't think it counts to use something that hasn't even happened yet in order to make me feel guilty."

The Doctor shrugged. "Not trying to make you feel guilty, just telling you the facts."

"Well, the planet's on its way towards your happy ending. Certain species are no longer allowed to be bought or sold into slavery anymore. Crayans, Lycannots, Misliotentui, humans…"The Doctor perked up at that. Jancon noticed. "I see something I said caught your attention. Your mate, isn't it?"

The Doctor had gotten so used to everyone calling Rose his 'mate' that he no longer needed to think about what they meant, the fact just clicked, as if it had always fit. "Yes. Rose, my – my mate. She's human."

"And she's still stuck in Eyal." Jancon guessed.

"As far as I know."

"Well, that really is too bad for her." The Prebassador glanced up at the Doctor, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I'm sure she'll make some Drephesh very…happy…one day."

He pushed himself off the railing, throwing back the last sip of his wine, and began to walk away. Irrationally, the Doctor panicked. "Wait!" Jancon paused. The Doctor stole himself, glancing down at his feet. Since when had he been reduced to this? "Please. She's – She's a wonderful person, the most amazing. She doesn't deserve this life. If you brought her back here and –"

"Freed her?" Jancon finished for him, eyebrows raised. The Doctor gulped and nodded.

"I'll do anything."

Jancon smirked and came over to the Doctor, stopping when their faces were mere inches from each other's. "Of course you will, Mr. Smith." He whispered threateningly, all pretenses of hospitality gone from his eyes. "You're my  _slave._ "

Jancon went to turn away again, but the Doctor grabbed his arm. The Prebassador ripped his arm free and spun on his slave. "You do not touch your master unless told to." He said quietly, his tone heavy with threat. The Doctor ignored it.

"This project, this special project you mentioned to your companion earlier." He said quickly. "You obviously purchased me for a reason, for a purpose, but you haven't mentioned it to me yet. Why? Because you're waiting for me to beg for it, to bargain for Rose's freedom by accomplishing this task. The fact that you had to resort to such a trick to try and get me to agree means whatever it is must be horrible and I would never agree to do something like it blindly. But here I am anyway…begging for it.  _Please._ "

Jancon stared at him for a moment before a large grin split his face. He smirked at the Doctor as he laughed, for the first time sounding malevolent. "Oh, you are clever. Perfect. That's exactly what I was gambling on. Alright, Mr. Smith, I shall consider procuring the freedom of your little flower in exchange for your services. However, keep in mind that  _you_ were the one that offered them."

Jancon took a step back and went to walk around the Doctor. The Time Lord matched his steps, keeping the Prebassador perfectly in sight. Jancon leaned against one of the pillars and cross his arms smugly.

"So, tell me, Mr. Smith, what do you know of the Tarmaggon Trials?"

The Doctor's eyes instantly darkened, his face forming into a scowl at the mere mention of the name. "I know how illegal it is." He answered forebodingly. "And how dangerous, how deadly, how absolutely inhumane –"

"Well, you're not  _human,_ are you? So I don't think you need worry about it being in _humane_."

"So you intend to have me compete?" The Doctor scoffed, trying to mask how the idea of competing in the Trails  _really_ made him feel. His hearts were beating at a mile a minute each, as if preparing for him to grow wings and fly away right then and there.

Jancon burst out laughing. "Oh, heavens no! The Trial is only a few weeks away, I've had my competitor in training for months! You, on the other hand, are here to help me ensure that, even if he does not evade the snatchers or get across that line first,  _my_ competitor will win by default."

"I don't like what 'winning by default' implies, Jancon."

Pain instantly radiated from his ankle, rattling up his shin and knee and into his hips. The Doctor shouted out, taken by surprise by the pain, and grabbed for the closest railing to help hold himself up. Soon the pain vanished and the Doctor was left slumped over the railing, trying to catch his breath. He looked up to see Jancon twirling around a familiar silver remote. The Doctor glared at him and Jancon simply laughed.

"A gift from your keeper. Awfully handy, don't you think?" The Doctor didn't respond. He spit over the side of the railing, his saliva tinted orange from where he bit his tongue during the shock, and glared back at Jancon. "Now, let's try correcting your manners. I'm granting you a fair amount of freedom, Time Lord, far more than I usually give my slaves, but I still demand a certain amount of respect from you. You will never call me by my name again, only as 'master' or 'sir'. Am I understood."

"Yes,  _master._ " The Doctor spat back sarcastically. Like hell he was going to be reduced to  _that._

 _Think about Rose…_  The Doctor's glare softened as that small voice of reason spoke over that of his pride. If he behaved and did whatever it was Jancon wanted him to do, he would get Rose back, that much was clear as day. But what wasn't clear was exactly  _what_ the Prebassador needed.

"What do you want from me,  _sir._ "

Jancon smirked and readjusted the cuffs of his jacket. "I want you to use that incredible Time Lord brain of yours to help me make the perfect invisible weapon." He checked the time on a pocket watch that projected the numbers above it before turning to the Doctor, all malevolence gone from his eyes and face as if it had never been there. "Now get out of my sight and go clean the kitchen from top to bottom for Mrs. Sinh. Do not return to your room until it is spotless, and tomorrow we shall discuss the details of your enslavement."

His long stride quickly carried him off the open patio, leaving the Doctor still clinging to the railing, breathless with worry about what he had just agreed to do.


	28. Chapter 28

The Doctor trudged back into his room and collapsed onto the bed fully clothed. He was utterly exhausted. Cleaning the kitchen had taken the entire night to do, and by the time he'd finished scrubbing down the last surface the sun was already beginning to rise. He really shouldn't have been so tired, but with the space-sickness and the lack of sleep he received at Eyal, the Doctor found himself nodding of over a large pot he was drying clean. Mrs. Sinh had to wake him up and send him back to work even though her eyes followed him with a look of stern motherly concern.

It shouldn't have taken that long either, but continuously throughout the night other servants would come up to him and demand his help, which Mrs. Sinh reminded him he couldn't refuse. But after the fourth or fifth "Slave boy, run up to the fourth floor and get me this useless item I must have right now", the Doctor's patience began to wear thin.

"I have a name, you know!" He finally snapped at a servant girl around three o'clock in the morning. The girl looked taken aback, as if she really hadn't considered that.

"Oh, uhh, I'm sorry." She apologized awkwardly, not meeting his eyes. "Um - Could you please take these dish towels to the laundry – er...?"

"It's John." The Doctor sighed as he took hold of the offered laundry basket. The night wore on as such, one chores after the next, and the Doctor swore that every time he returned to the kitchen after running an errand it was even messier than before. Finally the rest of the servants went home for the night, leaving the Doctor alone, until Mrs. Sinh returned the next morning and shooed him off to bed. Since no one was around to remove his shackles the Doctor collapsed on the bed and fell asleep immediately with them still on.

He was so tired he didn't even hear the door  _creak_ open a few hours later, or hear the soft footsteps of someone tiptoeing towards his bed. He yelped and tried to jump away as something suddenly pounced on him and pinned him into place, bouncing up and down on the bed and giggling. He cracked one eye open enough to see an attack of blonde hair.

"Mornin', Sleeping Beauty!"

"Rose!"

The Doctor launched himself at his companion, tackling her with a hug that was made quite awkward by the fact that his hands were still bound together in the shackles. He ignored that and looped them over her head instead so he could wrap his arms around her. Rose returned the hug in favor, still laughing quietly in relief. The Doctor found himself joining her. "How did you – When did - What?" The Doctor sputtered into her hair.

Rose giggled at him. "I see your talent with words hasn't changed one bit."

"Oi, shut it! You caught me by surprise." The Doctor defended himself with a tone of false indignation. "What are you doing here? I thought you were still in Eyal."

Rose shook her head. Her tongue was sticking out between her teeth, a little pink dot between all the white. "That Jancon guy bought me. I dunno why, he's not done anything with me so far. He's just kinda…lettin' me be." She quirked her head to the side, still biting on her tongue. Her eyes ran over the bags under his eyes, the slight crookedness of his nose. "You've looked better."

"You haven't." He wasn't lying. Her skin wasn't only looking healthy again, but tanned and glowing, not like it had just been cooped up under artificial lighting for weeks, and her hair looked washed and cared for. It was braided back into two plaits with a few loose strands curling and framing her face. But it wasn't just that. She was smiling. She was hugging him back with the same enthusiasm as him, as she'd always had. She wasn't shying away or flinching. So very, very different from how she had acted back in that auction room, the last time he had seen her.

But even apart from all of that, the Doctor was three hundred percent sure that in that exact moment she was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on.

Rose blushed. "Yeah, well, two and a half days of rest and relaxation really help to lift the spirits. And Ilaria gave me this skin cream…I'm ninety percent sure it's just miracles in a bottle. "

The Doctor suddenly frowned. "Two and a half days? You've been here two and a half days?"

"Yeah, I was bought the same day as you. Didn't they tell you?"

The Doctor just shook his head before pausing, a resentfully smile forming on his lips as it all clicked together. "Oh, that was a clever play. He  _knew_ I was going to say yes. And I guess if I didn't he always had you to bribe me even further."

"Doctor, what are you talking about?" Rose sat back as the Doctor's face suddenly darkened. He glared at the wall, hands forming into fists. Rose carefully reached over and began to rub his upper arm, watching him curiously.

"He wants me to do something terrible, Rose." Rose's face lost a shade of color she had only just recently regained as she asked what it was. The Doctor shrugged with one shoulder. "I don't know, he hasn't told me yet, but I know it has something to do with the Tarmaggon Trials, and he was – or maybe still is – planning on using you as leverage to make me do it."

"He told me he purchased you to free you." The Doctor turned to his companion sharply, question marks all over his face. "That's what he told me when I woke up here, that he bough me and you in order to set us free. Said something about how Time Lords being in a cage was wrong and humans having rights or something. I thought that's why we were here."

The Doctor shook his head. "Maybe for you. That's what I bargained for, told him I'd do whatever this project of his was as long as he bought you and set you free. Ow!" Rose punched him in the arm. "What was that for?"

"You knew it was something terrible and yet you still agreed to it?" She looked exasperated and angry. The Doctor just gaped at her.

"Of course I did!" He shot back. "I did it for you, Rose. I would have bargained away my TARDIS if it meant getting you out of that horrible place."

"Well you shouldn't have. We could've figured something out –"

"No, I couldn't!" The Doctor suddenly stated forcefully. Rose fell silent. Her brown eyes widened as she saw the look of anger and desperation on the Doctor's face. "I couldn't come up with something else. I tried. I tried for weeks, Rose, and there was  _nothing_ I could do _._ I was useless in there. I couldn't find you. I couldn't stop them from hurting you. I was completely weak, completely pathetic. I should have been protecting you."

"Stop it!" Rose snapped loudly. "Just stop it, alright! I don't want to hear about that place anymore. You need to quit blaming yourself; you do this every time something bad happens. This was not your fault."

"I'm responsible for you, Rose." Suddenly his eyes were glistening with tears. "I asked you to come travel with me knowing the dangers out there and I still let it happen. But never again." He abruptly sounded very resolute. "After this I'm taking you back to Earth."

Rose gawked at him. "Like hell you are!"

"You could have died."

"I didn't."

"But not just this time. With the Daleks, the werewolf, the Cybermen –"

"Just shut up, will you. You act like me coming with you as a one-sided decision. I  _wanted_ to come!  _I_ left with  _you_ , you didn't force me! This is my choice and I'm stayin', and that's final."

"Oh, you sound just like your mother."

"And that's exactly what you'll be sending me back to." Rose crossed her arms. "And I'd just love to see you try to get rid of me."

The Doctor dipped his head, defeated. He really didn't have a say in anything anymore, did he? Truly embracing the slave life. He didn't want her there. He didn't want to see her in danger any more. He didn't want to see her hurt.

Silence fell between them as Rose accepted her victory before she broke it just as suddenly. "Now what are these…Triangle Trials?"

"Tarmaggon." The Doctor corrected automatically. He glanced up at his companion, who was staring at him expectantly. He gave a great sigh and readjusted the pillows so he could lean against the wall beside her.

"The Trials are a sort of game put on by the elite of the Tarmaggon system – that's the solar system adjacent to us right now. But it's known throughout the galaxy due to its reputation of being a bloodbath for the participants. It was made illegal years ago, but apparently nothing is illegal if you have enough money." The Doctor added bitterly.

"So, what happens in the game? Is it like Mortal Kombat or something? Fight to the death?"

"Yes…and no." Rose rolled her eyes at how unhelpful that comment was. "It's more like tag and hide-and-go-seek and the Hunger Games and hunting all jumbled up into one fun-filled excuse to gamble away ridiculous amounts of money."

"Well, that sounds pleasant." The Doctor laughed darkly at her remark.

"No, it's not. What happens is that each participating sponsor has a competitor – usually a slave or gladiator-type volunteer – who is thrown into a sort of giant maze in which they're all fighting to reach the end. Some sponsors promise their competitors freedom and payment if they get across the line first, which is enough motivation for anyone who's forced to compete. Inside the maze, there are no rules the competitors need to follow, which pretty much means it turns into a free-for-fall killing spree."

"There's the Hunger Games bit." Rose added with a look of disgust. The Doctor nodded.

"But it's not only the other competitors you need to look out for. There are also Snatchers who patrol the maze corridors. They get to travel around in nice hover cars, searching for the competitors. If a competitor gets caught by one of the snatchers, they are disqualified and the sponsor of that competitor owes all the other sponsors a certain amount of money. The last competitor standing or the first to cross the finish line wins…but not many make it to the line, and those who do are generally so injured they die soon afterwards."

"That's kind of like this game we used to play as kids back home." The Doctor snapped around to look at her, absolutely appalled. She quickly raised her hands and tried to backtrack the statement. "Not anywhere even remotely close to being like  _that_." She clarified. "It's this game we called Cops and Criminals. The Criminals had to get from the petrol station on the corner all the way to the Tesco eight blocks down. The Cops roamed the area between and if they saw a Criminal had to call out the correct name in order to 'catch' them."

"Yeah, not really the same at all, Rose." The Doctor muttered as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"No, I guess not." Rose bit her lower lip. "So what does he want you to do? Are you…are you going to be his competitor or something?"

"Naw, Jancon's already got one of those. I don't know though, he was going to fill me in today."

"Have you met them yet?" Rose asked suddenly. "I mean, more than just meeting him in Eyal."

"Yeah, I have. Briefly last night. It…wasn't really pleasant."

"They're weird, aren't they?" Whispered Rose. The Doctor quirked an eyebrow. "I mean, have you talked to that Ilaria woman yet?"

"Only a little bit." The Doctor crinkled his nose. "She kept calling me pretty."

Rose huffed. "Only you would complain about a compliment."

"But why'd she have to keep saying 'pretty'? Why couldn't it be 'ruggedly handsome' or 'devilishly good-looking'?"

" _Anyway,_ " Rose cut in. "I don't really think they're all together in the head. Just last night I was talking to her and half the time she was all haughty and self-important, and then suddenly she'd go on acting like we'd been best friends since grade school."

The Doctor pulled his legs up to his chest. "Sane or insane, I'll be staying away from that one. Besides, whatever Jancon's planning for me sounds like it should be keeping me pretty busy. Speaking of which." The Doctor stood up from the bed. "I think it's about time I found out what the price of your freedom is."

He held one of his chained hands out to Rose, who took it with a sideways smile and let him pull her off the bed. The Doctor frowned as she straightened out the periwinkle dress she was wearing. It was the first time he noticed it. "You're not wearing black." He stated dumbly.

Rose glanced up, brushing blonde hair from her eyes. "No. Should I be?"

The Doctor shook his head, still frowning. Coria's words from last night suddenly came back to him as he peered down at his own black ensemble. _T_ _hose in slavery are required to wear only black clothes._ Her hands weren't chained together either. " _Ilaria gave me this skin cream_ " She had said. " _And then suddenly she'd go on acting like we'd been best friends since grade school."_ None of that sounded like how a mistress should be treating a slave…

"Don't worry, Doctor." Rose squeezed his hand, leaning her head against his upper arm as they walked towards the door together. "We'll come up with a plan. We always do."

"Yeah, it's just taking a bit longer than usual."

"Well that just means it's going to be that much better."

The Doctor squeezed her hand back. " _God,_ how I've missed you, Rose Tyler."

"Quite right to." She chimed in with a posh accent.

There was no one to greet them outside the Doctor's room, which had remained unlocked after Rose snuck in, but the Doctor's shackles were already on so he technically wasn't breaking any rules leaving. The chain jingled noisily as they walked. The Doctor had to keep one hand right in front of himself as Rose had taken up the other and the chain wasn't quite long enough to allow it comfortably.

Rose seemed fine at first glance, with her smile and her usual quick words and fiery attitude, but as they walked on in silence the Doctor could sense her jumpy eyes scanning their surroundings and feel her shiver occassionally, despite the warm day. The dress she was wearing hardly would have protected her from the cold anyway. It was cut in a classical Grecian style with braided straps that criss-crossed over her open back, showing off a lot of skin, and the skirt was made of a thin, loose fabric that swirled around her ankles. The Doctor couldn't decide if he wanted to laugh or gape at her wearing it; it was so un-Rose-like to wear such a dress, and yet she looked absolutely stunning in it. The Doctor could only assume, however, that this was the only outfit option she had been given.

"Doctor, you're staring." Rose pointed out without looking at him.

"No I'm not."

"Yes, you are. What's up?"

The Doctor contemplated for a moment before settling with, "You look beautiful." He did not wish to trouble her with his observations. If she was content with putting on a false smile in hopes of – what he knew was supposed to be – reassuring him, he wasn't going to crush it. They could both use the forged sense of comfort.

Rose blushed intensely before she tensed once more, fingers tightening around the Doctor's. "Prebassador. Three o'clock." She murmured in a rushed voice, eyes casting down and to the side. There it was, the Doctor thought with a pang of sorrow and guilt.

He brushed it away and looked to where she indicated. Jancon came striding across the sloping lawns straight towards them. His hands were clasped casually behind his back as he approached.

The Doctor forced a convincing smile on his face as he covertly stepped slightly in front of Rose a few feet away from the Prebassador. "Ah,  _master_! Just the man I was looking for." He said in a cheery voice.

Jancon smiled pleasantly in return "Good morning to you as well, John Smith. I was just on my way to meet you. Thorn." The last comment confused the Doctor, and even more so when Jancon turned to Rose with a smile and gave her a short bow as he said it. Rose couldn't help but blush. She knew this man was dangerous and possibly deranged, but  _damn_  he could be charming at times. It made it slightly difficult to see him as the cold-blooded killer the Doctor described the Trial's sponsors to be.

"I see the lovers have been reunited at last. I hope it was a pleasant reunion." He cast a genuine grin between the two.

"It was indeed." The Doctor smiled agreeably, although none of the offered friendliness met his eyes, which were currently drilling into Jancon's like a power tool.

"Ilaria will be pleased to hear it. She does love her romantic stories." He chuckled softly and Rose grinned as well as if that were some kind of inside joke the two shared. The Doctor glanced between his companion and master, eyes narrowing. What  _had_ Rose been up to over the last two and a half days? And why had he called her 'Thorn'?

"Ilaria waits for you in the garden, Miss Thorn." There it was again. "I believe she went out this morning and spent all my hard earned money on authentic Earth tealeaves, so I suggest you hurry along before she finds another relic of your home planet to purchase. She does go through her obsessions."

"Umm…" Rose looked anxiously up at the Doctor. "Actually, I was hoping I could stay with the Doc – I mean John, for a little while longer."

Jancon shook his head. "I am sorry, but I must speak with my new slave privately. Perhaps if he is not too busy later I will arrange for another time for you to visit. Off you pop."

It was not a suggestion and both Rose and the Doctor knew it. Rose squeezed his hand one more time before trudging up the grassy slopes towards the estate's vast gardens, lifting up the skirts of her ridiculous – yet, the Doctor admitted, gorgeous – dress as she walked. She shot one look over her shoulder as she went and the Doctor nodded minimally, encouraging her to go.

The Doctor turned his attention back to Jancon, who was studying him again like an interesting specimen under a microscope. "I feel like you just talked about setting us up on a playdate. Can the next one be at Chuck E Cheese's?"

"That's enough, Time Lord." Jancon's said. His voice had quite suddenly dropped the friendly bounce it had while Rose was with them, though it hadn't quite reached the same level of unpleasantness as it had the night before. "I've come to discuss my plans with you."

"Discuss away." The Doctor replied welcomingly. "I'm all ears. No, wait, wrong mouse." Jancon just stared at him. "Radio Disney? You know…the kids stations…on Earth? No? Blimey, and I thought Shelwick was supposed to be going through a vintage Earth phase. No matter. What horrendous deed do you wish of me,  _master_." The Doctor bowed deeply and, more to the point, sarcastically. Jancon sighed exasperatedly.

"Walk with me, Time Lord." He turned across the lawns in the opposite direction Rose had just gone, and the Doctor followed obediently, curious and apprehensive about what was about to be revealed to him. Jancon led him around the edge of the estate and passed the servants door the Doctor used the night before. As they walked, he spoke. "If my knowledge holds truth, then it is true the Time Lords of old were masters in all arts of math and science, am I correct?"

" _Well,_ we tried to be modest about it." The Doctor sniffed in an obvious act to be exactly the opposite of modest.

Jancon approached another door set far away from the main front of the house. A guard stood watch in front of it. He nodded respectfully and pulled the door open for him. Jancon stepped through, the Doctor following anxiously. Guards made him nervous, despite himself. He tried not to look up as the guard glared at him. He wondered if these guards carried around cattle-prods as well or if they had another means of keeping the slaves in line.

"I am glad to hear it." Jancon resumed speaking once they were inside. The hallway they entered was small, narrow, and dimly lit, and the Doctor was sure he could feel a distinct downwards slant in the floor. They were going underground, beneath the very estate. What could possibly be down there? "I do not make a habit of walking these halls," The Prebassador said as he saw the unease in the Doctor's eyes. "However, you will, so overcome whatever fear you have of being beneath ground right now, or else you will be making your stay rather uncomfortable for yourself. This way."

They turned and went down a flight of stairs that led them even further underground and then to a door equipped with a print-recognition lock. Jancon placed his finger upon the small pad next to it and the door slid open. The Doctor froze at the sight.

Beyond the door was a  _giant_ gym-like room with outrageously high walls and ceiling. They must be much further underground then he originally thought. There were machines lining one of the vast walls along with various exercise equipment from many different cultures. A colossal ropes course took up half the room with so many platforms and ladders and rungs and obstacles the Doctor's mind began to ring just trying to take them all in. And in the closest corner was a large padded area with a sort of boxing ring in the middle where two men were sparring viciously. One wore padding while the other was clad only in black exercise pants, his muscular bare chest glistening with sweat. He glanced up for only a moment when he heard the door open and the other took the advantage, ramming his fist into his competition's nose and socking him in the stomach before sweeping the feet out from under him. He fell like a rock to the floor with a great groan. "Get up!" The other shouted. "You form is weak, your attacks clumsy, and you are easily distracted! You will last a grand total of five minutes in there if you keep up this shit!"

"Your competitor, I assume?" The Doctor inquired. Jancon just ground his teeth disappointedly as the man crawling back to his feet before jerking his head to the side, indicating that the Doctor was to follow him down another hallway. It led away from the giant gym until the grunts and shouts of the training faded away and they came to another locked door.  _So much security…_ Jancon ushered the Doctor though and the sight that met him hardly put the anxiety in his stomach at ease. In fact, it did the exact opposite.

Though not as large as the gym, the room Jancon pushed the Doctor into was vast and oppressing all the same. The floors were made of starched white tiles to match the walls, giving the room a very sterile, eternal look. Tables and countertops were strewn with glass instruments, machines, tools and vials and gas gages and grids of empty chemical vats. The Doctor spun around, trying to take in every angle and object.

It was a lab. A very well stocked and provided for lab. But what were they using it for. And what were they planning to do with him in it? The Doctor swallowed an irrational lump of fear as the image of Bachir formed behind his eyes, condemning him to a laboratory to be studied and tested and dissected for the good of their insane government. Vadim standing over him with a scalpel painted orange with his blood. He shook his head to rid himself of the images. No, Jancon had just asked him if he had a mind for science.  _He_ was expected to be the scientist, not the subject.

"Impressive, is it not?" Said the Prebassador. "I've been collecting bits and pieces for a while now, under the guidance of a scientific advisor to the Republic that I have paid off quite handsomely. Unfortunately, his knowledge does not quite reach the level I require. He said the deed of which I ask is impossible to do."

"And what, exactly, is that?" The Doctor was getting tired of Jancon avoiding the main point of their conversation. If he wanted a guided tour of the estate he would have asked.

Jancon began to pace around the Doctor, picking up a measuring instrument from a nearby table and inspecting it for a moment. The Doctor's patience nearly snapped when Jancon finally spoke again.

"It came to my attention not long ago that my rival, the good and noble Manisiotis, has taken over monopoly of hiring the Snatchers for the Trials." The Doctor didn't see how this was a problem, or how he was expected to do about it. Usually the appointment of Snatchers was taken on by several of the sponsors, but it was not unheard of for one to offer paying the price for all of them. Often a majority of the men's work would be covered by the previous victor, as a sign of good sportsmanship and humility.

"It has also come to my attention," Jancon continued in a lower, more scathed voice. "That Manisiotis had commanded the men to search primarily for the competitor of the house of Ligtech. And as you could probably tell from that show only moments ago, that worthless bastard I paid good coin for probably won't make it through his first skirmish with a pack of properly trained Snatchers, as they are. So," He glanced up at the Doctor, who was peering him warily beneath his lowered brow, as if to see if the Time Lord was starting to get his meaning. The Time Lord was. "I would have it that the Snatchers be adequately yet covertly dispatched of prior to my competitor's capture."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. He still didn't see how this had anything to do with him. What could he do about that; he wouldn't even be in the same area as them, Jancon already had his competitor.

Jancon continued to pace. "I do not know how much you are aware of the rules of the Trials. The way the system is set up now, once a band of Snatchers acquire one competitor, they are allowed to return to the maze once their captive is removed. I would like it that these men would be made unable to continued their hunt; the less Snatchers against my man, the better. And what is a more certain way to ensure they do not return than death."

The Doctor's jaw hardened instantly. "Death." The word tasted sour on his tongue. Jancon wanted him to  _kill_  them…but how? Where did the lab come in. "And how do you expect that to be done? I won't be in the maze, how do you suppose I'd be of any use. Unless you want me to poison them first, in which case it should be easy enough for someone like you to acquire the right drug."

"No, poison is too obvious. And it will be discovered, for each man who plays as a Snatcher is given the privilege of a proper burial, including an autopsy, in which the deed would surely be unveiled and an investigation instigated. The competitors, however, are considered as slaves, and therefore have no such right upon death."

"So…wait. You want me to poison the  _competitors?_  How does that make any sense? If the other competitors are dead, they will have even more reason to focus on your man."

"It is not a poison I demand, though, but a virus." The Doctor froze. He was beginning to figure out that Jancon intended, but  _how_ was still a mystery to him. Even if a virus were given to the competitors, how would that affect the Snatchers, unless it was a quick contagion?

"I know of a particular disease originating from Earth that fits the criteria for what I need." Jancon continued. "It is known there as  _Rhabdoviridae._ _"_

_Well…that was a surprise. "Rabies?!"_

_Jancon nodded, glad the slave was finally catching up. "The very same. I have seen its affect before._ Encephalitis is a nasty business, causing brain inflammation, seizures, headaches –"

"Yes, I know the symptoms." He interrupted, feeling his stomach clench. Jancon smiled cruelly.

"And my personal favorite," He went on. "Madness. Loyal dogs attacking once beloved masters, mindless with fury and a taste for death. Heightening the affect of the excitative stage of disease would help increase the turn towards aggression and violence."

"You want me to inject the other competitors with a mutated strain of rabies so that they'll kill for you." The realization came with a numb sense of disgust. His words came out in a low, quiet growl, repulsion dripping off each syllable.

"And then succumb to the expected paralysis and death of the virus, burying any loose ends to connect them to my cause." He looked so proud of himself, smirking as he leaned against the countertop. "But that is not the difficult part." He added hastily. "Any half-studied scientist could increase the amount of encephalitis found in the disease. It's controlling it that truly troubles me. With the original strain, incubation time could take up to eight months. I would need it instantly and at the touch of a finger – or rather remote, as it will be. I wish to have full control over when the virus will be released into their system."

The Doctor shook his head. "Not only is what you ask for revolting, it is also impossible. Viruses from the Mononegavirales order don't lay dormant and are unpredictable."

"Unless attached to the correct catalysts and control chemicals."

The Doctor growled in frustration. "But even so, how do you expect them to carry the virus. If you mix it with a catalyst there is nothing to stop it from taking affect as soon as it's injected. The competitors wouldn't even make it into the maze, let alone far enough to unwillingly massacre everything in their sights."

Jancon seemed to have an answer for everything. A fact that showed on his smug, gray face. "Each competitor is tagged with a microchip for tracking and surveillance within the maze. An acquaintance of mine is responsible for the manufacturing of these chips. He ensures me that a small section of each chip will be left open for a built-in dissolvable capsule to be placed. The capsule cover will be controlled by a singular remote which I will have beside me at all times during the live viewing. Inside will be the virus you develop, and once released it will rampage through the central nervous system."

The Doctor snorted at the egotistical sneer gracing his master's face. He turned away and tried to brush off the seriousness of the previous few minutes. It was possible, yes, but the Doctor wasn't about to tell this psychotic, delusional, power-hungry Tarmaggon that. He wasn't about to play that game.

"Well, you should listen more to your man. It can't be done." He said with finality.

Jancon smiled knowingly. "Oh, yes it can. I can see it in your eyes." He stepped closer, sizing up the man before him. "Your people once harnessed the power of Time. If your mind can claim mastery over that of such an illusive science, then how can it not for such a simple biological trick?"

"Can and will are two very different concepts, Prebassador." The Doctor growled menacingly.

"Then it is agreed that you  _can_  do it. And you  _will_  do it, John."

"And murder countless innocent people in the act?"

"Or harm the woman you love." The Prebassador countered with ease, confident smile growing with each second. "It is your choice, although something tells me know exactly which you will choose, just as I do."

The Doctor leaned against the opposite counter and crossed his arms, glaring hard. "Then you are mistaken. Rose would never thank me for such a thing, and we both know you won't lay a hand on her. Your wife favors her, and the planet's people you represent and serve would be in upheaval if they ever discovered you were treating a human in such a way. You can't afford that kind of publicity to leak into the public."

Silence pressed between them, pressurized and volatile, as Jancon gnawed thoughtfully on his lower lip. The Doctor did not dare reduce his glower. The Storm brewed behind his eyes. He would not do this. Could not do this. Even though it was only a few lives of the retched and murderous that would be taken, this kind of virus could not be allowed to fall into distrustful hands. If it were ever taken further than the Trials' maze – onto an entire planet, for instance – the affects would be devastating. Neighbor turning on neighbor without cause or will, destroying the opposition for the hand who dealt out the disease in the first place without them ever having to lift a finger. It would be genocide in the cruelest and most dishonorable way; and the Doctor would not have his hands play in another massacre. Not let them be painted red with even more blood than was already upon them.

"So you will not do this for me?" Jancon finally stated, not sounded the least bit disappointed. The Doctor raised his chin defiantly.

"No."

Jancon sighed and pressed his hands against the table. "Fine. Have it your way, Mr. Smith. The guards will see that are you taken care of." The Doctor spun around as he heard footsteps coming through the laboratory's door. Two guards appeared, standing at attention to await their master's orders. The Doctor felt his hearts palpate at the sight of them, but he fought to keep on his stoic mask. He couldn't let Jancon see that he feared their presence.

The Prebassador pushed away from the counter and went to leave. The Doctor stood straighter as he approached and stopped at his shoulder, pausing dramatically for a moment before whispering, "And I never said the harm to your woman would be physical." He turned to the guards. "Seize him. Bring him to the servant's yard and summon Miss Rose. It's time for our new slaves to discover the price of their defiance."


	29. Chapter 29

Three Days Earlier

" _Where is he?" Rose demanded of the man who just entered the room moments earlier. He clearly was not one of her captors; his eyes weren't orange and his skin was a dark gray tone, like charcoal burning to white. By his strange appearance and the way he held himself as if he were ten feet tall and the most important being in the universe, there was only one person he could be_

" _My. Perhaps you are the one they needed to muzzle." The Prebassador laughed good-naturedly. Rose didn't._

" _Where is he?" She asked again. She was certainly acting much braver than she felt. She was standing alone in a room with a strange man who could easily overpower her – in fact was probably_ expected  _to. She had nothing to defend herself with…and he was walking closer. "What – what did you do with him?" She insisted even as she took an unsure step backwards._

_The man looked her over curiously. "I am assuming by your demanding questions that you already know who I am and what I am here for. And I assume as well that you are speaking of your mate, John Smith?"_

_Rose didn't question the alias. She was used to him going by his favorite earth name. She had accused it of being too dull last time he was forced to use it, but now she liked how simple it was, easy to remember._

" _Yeah, I am. Now tell me where he is or – or I'll –"_

_The Prebassador interrupted her suddenly with a laugh. "What? What will you do to me, little Earth girl?"_

" _Well, you ain't gonna want to be around to find out, that's for sure." She snapped back. He chuckled again, only helping to fuel her anger, instant hatred, and – fear? – of him._

" _I believe your keeper informed me that he once called you 'Rose'." His eyes glanced over her again. She was in a fighting stance, feet spaced a shoulder's width apart, one hand resting ready on the small table beside her while the other was balled into a fist at her side. "More like the thorn than the flower, really." He mused to himself. "Beautiful, but sharp. Dangerous. Protective."_

_Rose didn't respond. She shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. Then suddenly his eyes were no longer on her. "I assure you, Miss Thorn," He smiled a bit at his own nickname. "I mean neither you nor your mate any harm. I recently met with him and the paperwork for his purchase is all ready to be signed and the money ready to be transferred. However," Jancon moved to sit down at one of the chairs by the table. He indicated for Rose to join him in the opposite seat, but she ignored him. He shrugged and went on. "The Eyal Company seems to have overlooked a very important fact about your mate. They don't seem to know his species."_

" _He's human." Rose said quickly. "Just like me."_

_Jancon smiled at her. "A convincing cover, I'm sure, due to the similarities in appearances and physiology. But I have been looking at the records of your dear John Smith and have discovered the truth. Ah – "He held up a hand quickly as Rose opened her mouth to speak. How could he know? Did he tell Eyal? The Doctor had been adamant about them not knowing what he was. Who he was. What if? "I assure you, my Thorn,"_

" _It's Rose."_

" _I have not revealed his secret to Eyal. If he wishes to keep his species concealed from them, then I can only assume it is for a good reason. And I can also assure you that my presence here is for a good reason as well. Please, sit."_

_Hesitantly, Rose pulled the back of the chair away from the table and slowly lowered herself into the chair. Her legs were sore from a workout her keeper had been having her do before the auction started and she admitted to herself that it was nice to be able to sit down on something soft._

" _As I said before," The Prebassador continued, "I have access to the records kept of all stock passing through Eyal's halls. When I came across that of Male Designation 196305, I was intrigued to realize what he really was. I doubt your keeper or anyone else is listening in, but just to be certain I will refrain from saying it out loud. I have always held an interest in your mate's kind. A fascination, if you will, born of childhood myths and fueled by the resources at my disposal. I heard rumors that they did once exist, and even wilder rumors that there was still one alive this day. A creature so ancient and noble has no place behind cage doors, begin sold off to any beggar with a pretty penny. So I am here to ensure his majesty remains intact by removing him from such a place."_

_Rose frowned. "Wait, so…you're freeing him?"_

" _Eventually, yes," The Prebassador said with a smile, glad the human girl was keeping up. "I have one small favor I need to ask of him, mostly due to my adoration of his kind and curiosity, but once that is completely I will sign his papers of release and he will forever be a free man in this system."_

_Rose couldn't help the sigh of relief that passed her lips. If the Doctor got out, he could easily get back to the TARDIS and come rescue her from this hell-hole. They would be free once again._

" _However," Jancon interrupted her happy thoughts, the single word connoting bad news forming a stone in Rose's stomach. "Because Eyal never noticed his true worth, I arrived here with much more money available to be spent than he costs. Which leaves room for me to purchase one more slave." He gave Rose a meaningful look. Her breath wavered._

" _You mean me?" The Prebassador smiled charmingly at her. She had to admit, he was rather good-looking. She felt herself blushing even as she thought it._

" _John Smith's mate or not, I can hardly sit back and watch such a beautiful creature as yourself waste away in this hellish place. No human should have to undergo such torment. That is why I am willing to purchase you as well."_

_Rose felt a smile flicker to life on her face, the first smile she's worn since the Doctor was torn away from her._

" _I will do this," The Prebassador said seriously. "If you promise me one thing, Thorn."_

" _What?"_

" _Help me keep your mate on the_ right _track." He cocked his head to the side, his gray eyes shining with sympathy and concern. "He is not in a good place right now and I fear he may not thrive in my care before he will be allowed to go free. I only wish for his health as well as yours. Will you help me ensure he makes the_ right  _decisions?"_

_Rose didn't entirely get why this was a question. Of course she was going to make sure the Doctor make the right decisions. She didn't understand why the Prebassador kept accentuating this, but she nodded anyway, barely able to keep her smile from her face. They were getting out of this place. They were going to be together. They were going to be free._

" _Of course I'll help."_

"Rose, dear, are you listening to me?"

Rose jumped as the voice penetrated her memories. Ilaria was peering at her worriedly, her elegant brow creased as she turned her head slightly to the side. Rose sat up straighter in her chair and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes.

"Yeah. Sorry. I was just…thinking."

"Hmm." Ilaria turned away from the topic with an indifferent smile. "Well, I don't make it a habit of pouring tea myself, but you've gone through quite an ordeal, so I will do the honors." She tipped the tea pot over, pouring the steaming brown liquid into a cup and passing it to Rose. The human gingerly took it. The tea threatened to spill over the side from her shaking hands.

Ilaria clearly noticed but decided not to address it. Ordering the girl to stop being so nervous only seemed to increase her anxiety. So instead she took a sip of her tea, savoring the tang of earth's herbs, and set her cup back down.

"So, tell me of your mate. Was your reunion rewarding?"

Rose just stared down at her own cup as a small smile formed. "Yeah, it was nice seeing him again."

Ilaria waited for a second, but it was apparent the girl wasn't about to continue, so she prompted her on. "And did you do as I instructed?"

The smile vanished from Rose's lips at the casually stated question. The shaking increased to the point where she had to set down her cup and cross her arms to hide the evidence. "Yes." She muttered into her folded arms.

"Oh, come now, Rose." Ilaria said as she sat up to reach for a pastry on the table. They were sitting outside in a beautiful garden area with colorful flowers and tree surrounding them on three sides, the other taken up by the wall of the estate. Somewhere a creek laughed as it tripped over rocks and reeds. It should have been peaceful. Ilaria inspected the pastry as she spoke. "How hard is it really to smile and laugh?"

"Harder than you might think." Rose murmured quietly enough that the woman didn't hear her.

"And is it not for a good cause? He thinks you happy and content. He isn't worrying about you as you claim he always does. And a worried mind is a distracted mind."

"He knows." Rose stated suddenly. Ilaria, in the middle of a bite, turned to her curiously. "He always knows when something's wrong. When someone's lying to him."

She said the last part quietly as she folded even more into herself. Ilaria looked over her with sympathy before leaning forward and carefully prying Rose's hands apart. The human looked up at her, fear flashing momentarily behind her eyes, but Ilaria held them steady.

"Then let it not be a lie. You have no need to be fearful anymore, Rose. You are gone from that place now. If it were not cruel to demand it, I would have you smiling and laughing around me as well. I do not care for this dour mood you are setting."

Rose tried to force herself to smile. "It was nice seeing him again." She admitted. It hadn't all been an act like it was right now. Seeing the Doctor again had made her smile less strained, made her laughter come easier. She hadn't thought that, after everything she had been through these last six weeks, she would ever be able to smile again, but seeing how his face lit up when he saw her made it almost impossible not to. She was safe with him, and even though he hated himself for not being able to protect her she couldn't do the same. He was always there for her. How had she forgotten that? How had she allowed those bastards at Eyal to convince her otherwise?

"Well, I am glad." Ilaria sat back looking quite pleased with herself. They sat in silence for a while longer, listening to the birds fluttering through the leaves, untroubled and free. Rose sipped at her tea. It wasn't quite what she was used to, but it reminded her of home nonetheless.

Suddenly heavy footsteps broke through the peaceful quite of the garden. Both Rose and Ilaria spun around, the older woman a little more gracefully as Rose nearly dropped her tea cup in surprise. Two guards appeared beside their little patio walking purposefully towards Rose. She tried not to look too small as they approached, hardening her features into an expressionless mask.

"What is the meaning of this?" Ilaria asked, not sounding the least bit pleased that they had interrupted tea time.

"Apologies, my lady, but the girl is summoned."

Rose felt a little color drain from her face. Why? Why were they here for her? What were they going to do?

Ilaria seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "And for what purpose? She is serving me at this moment."

"Again, apologies." The other guard said, stepping forward. "But the Prebassador has requested her presence." The suddenly his hand was around Rose's upper arm, aiming to pull her out of the chair. It wasn't rough or painful, but Rose instantly felt a rush of panic assault her. She tried to pull away, which only made the hand grip her tighter. Her eyes widened like a frightened animal.

"Release her!" Ilaria shouted as she jumped to her feet. "Can you not see you're hurting her!" The hand released its hold and Rose stumbled backwards, trying to get as far away form the guard without running away. Her back pressed lightly against the tea table as she held her own hand to her upper arm as if the skin there had been burned.

"Did I not instruct the guards not to  _touch_ her?" Hissed Ilaria. "She's frightened. She has been a victim of horrendous crimes –"

"And she will not be again." The first guard interrupted with a look of boredom. "I assure you, my lady, we have no intention of harming your human. She has simply been summoned."

Ilaria glared at the for a moment longer before her entire defensive aura vanished, leaving her with a flippant expression. "Well, alright." She conceded as she plopped back down in her chair as if none of her outbreak had just happened. "Take her, I guess. Just have her returned to me once you're done with her."

She picked up her tea cup and took a casual sip while Rose gaped at her. There it was again, just like how she'd been telling the Doctor. One moment Ilaria was acting like they were bosom buddies, and the next as if Rose were as insignificant and pointless as a one of the cobble stones in her garden patio: nice to look at but easy to tread over. So she squared her shoulders and tried to look important on her own. "What does the Prebassador going to do with me?"

"Your  _master_ isn't going to do anything to you." The guard's tone instantly shifted from respectful to derogatory as he passed a sneering look over the human. "He wants you there to observe the punishment of another slave. You get out of this one."

Rose felt like the world slip out from under her feet. "The Doct- I mean, John?!"

"How the hell would I know? Come on." The guard went to grab her again but she yanked her arm away.

"Alright, I'm coming. And I can walk by myself, thanks."

She cast one last questioning look over her shoulder at Ilaria, who was staring off into the distant trees as if none of this were happening right in front of her, and with a resigning sigh followed the guards away. They brought her down the sloping lawn towards the servants quarters where she found the Doctor earlier (she had been given a room in the main house) but instead of heading towards the entrance they angled as if to go around the side. She didn't like how close one of the guards was walking next to her and discretely shuffled away. Rose hated being afraid, but her racing pulse and nervous breathing didn't seem to have received that memo.

It was as they neared the servant's quarters that Rose heard the first resounding  _CRACK!_ She froze instantly as a pained "Nnngnn…" followed. Without another moment of hesitation she took off in a sprint, picking up the hem of her ridiculous dress in one hand. The guard shouted after her but she ignored him, hurtling around the corner of the servant's quarters only to slam once again into a stunned halt.

When the guards had said 'servant's yard' Rose immediately pictured a small courtyard, maybe with grass, with clothes lines and servant's casually milling about, enjoying the outdoors perhaps on a day off or a break. Instead, all that was there were two wooden posts standing erect in the middle of the square patch of dirt. Between them hung the Doctor, wrists chained to either post so his arms were pulled to either side. His back was to her, but where a shirt should have been there were only rivets of blood covering his bare skin. A beefy and vicious looking guard stood behind him with a whip in hand. He pulled his arm back, raising it, swirling the whip around in the air above him so as to pick up momentum, before bringing it down forcefully on the Doctor's already mutilated back.

_Crack!_

"Argggg…" The Doctor clearly struggled to keep the strangled noise from coming out.

"Stop! Stop it!" Rose shouted as she burst forward, ready to tackle the guard wielding the whip. But she was grabbed from behind by a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist. She struggled, animalistic panic making her mind blur red, but the arms held tightly.

"Proceed." A voice announced from somewhere off to the side. The guard with the whip quickly obliged by bringing the instrument down once more on the Doctor's back. His body jerked, every muscle twitching in pain as he shouted out against his barred teeth.

"Leave him alone!" Rose tried to twist her way out of the arms holding her back. "Why'r'ya doing this? Stop!"

The whip came down again and the Doctor's body convulsed. This time Rose heard a faint  _zap_  come right after the lash made contact with his skin, and watching closely saw a bright blue spark ignite along the tail of the whip. It was electric as well. Rose wanted to vomit.

"Pause." The authoritative voice said again. The guard stepped back, wrapping the bloodied whip around his arm. "I'm so sorry you must witness this, Thorn."

Jancon stepped into view beside the Doctor. The Time Lord was slumped in his bonds, breathing heavily. Each breath pulled against the damage skin of his back and caused the orange blood to rise to the surface and drizzle down his back even faster.

"However, your Time Lord has been rather insistent on disobeying. A fact that, solely through his own actions, must unfortunately result in rather uncomfortable corrections." He turned to the Doctor's back as if to inspect the gashes criss-crossing his skin. The Doctor's shoulder twitched involuntarily, muscles in spasm from the amount of pain and electricity they had just endured. Jancon hoisted up a stick he'd been playing with in the corner and jabbed it into the Doctor's back, poking like a scientist might poke at the specimen under dissection. Rose heard the Doctor hiss through his teeth as the stick pressed excruciatingly into the fresh wounds. She kicked out unsuccessfully once more, but her attempt wasn't as fueled as before. The presence of the man behind her as well as the Prebassador in front sent a chill rippling down her spine.

"I don't take joy in hurting my slaves, Miss Thorn. In fact, I don't take much join in owning them either. If you look around you will see that a majority of my staff are actually properly employed servants. A privilege I originally extended out to you and Mr. Smith. However, your Time Lord does not seem to wish to accept my offer, so I must give him a new one." Jancon drove the point of the stick even further into the gash and the Doctor's was barely able to bite down on the cry of pain rising through his throat. His spine tried to arch away from the cause only to be held in range by the shackles around each wrist.

"Just stop, alright? You're hurting him!" Rose didn't care how obvious her statement was. Of course they were hurting him. That was the whole point.

The Doctor's head lifted slightly at her voice. "R'se. Rose, s'okay." His voice barely carried over to them. Jancon clapped him on the shoulder in a fatherly way, eliciting a groan from the strung up alien.

"Unnecessary pain, my dear Thorn, if your mate had just agreed to do as I asked. But he was adamant about his refusal, and therefore here we are. So," He held out his hand and the guard dropped the bloody whip into his waiting palm. "We will continue with the punishment until you can convince your dearly beloved to do as I say."

Rose's eyes darted over to the Doctor. She couldn't see his face from this position, but he angled his head so she could see the corners of his deep brown eyes watching her from over his shoulder. She waited for his instruction before turning her gaze back to Jancon and stating. "No."

The Prebassador clearly had not been expecting that answer. He stared at Rose, taken aback. "Excuse me."

"I said no." She stated a little more forcefully. "Whatever it is, if he's refusing to do it, then it can't be good. And I trust 'im. So no." Her eyes flickered over to the Doctor again and maybe it was just her imagination but she thought she could see a small smile in his pain filled eyes.

Jancon didn't need long to overcome this minor setback. "I appreciate your opinion on this matter, Rose. Now, if you excuse me," He spun around and with a speed and strength Rose didn't think the politician would have slammed the tail of the whip into the Doctor's side so that the lash wrapped all the way around his torso in a full circle. Electricity cackled along the leather length and the Doctor threw his head back with a howl that cut Rose's heart in half. Viciously, the Prebassador yanked the whip back, tearing away the skin it had just made contact with and cutting off the flow of electricity. The Doctor's body collapsed forward as if the current had been the only thing holding him up. Jancon brought his arm back for another assault.

"Wait!"

He turned to Rose with a conceitedly mocking look of curiosity. The whip hung limp and unthreatening from his hand, much like the Time Lord it was tormenting.

"Just lemme talk to him for a moment." Rose negotiated. Jancon obliged with a nod and that charmingly vain smile as the guard behind her released his hold from around her waist. She scrambled out of his reach. Never taking her eyes off the Prebassador, Rose made her way around the opposite side of the posts to the Doctor, taking his face in her hands with what she hoped was a comforting touch.

"You okay."

The Doctor winced slightly. "You'd think…by now I'd be…more used t…to electricity." He tried to joke. Rose took the cue and forced a smile.

"Let's just hope you don't get many more chances to get too friendly with it." The Doctor laughed hoarsely.

"No." He agreed.

"What does he want you to do?" Rose asked abruptly. The Doctor looked like he was about to launch into a long explanation, but a spasm suddenly erupted in his back, causing him to grit his teeth instead. "Is it really bad?"

The Doctor sufficed it to just nod.

"Bad enough to be worth this?"

Glancing up at her as she continued to cup his cheeks in her hands, the Doctor looked her deep in the eye, trying to gage exactly what she was thinking. When he didn't respond she just took a quick breath. "Because I don't want to just sit here and watch you gettin' tortured."

"Rose –"

"No, tell me, Doctor. You don't need ta tell me exactly what it is, but is it really worth this."

In the second it took him to respond he didn't move his eyes from her own worried brown orbs. "Yes." He saw her face fall slightly as he said it. "I'd be…killing people. Innocent people."

"And you can't just be selfish for once?" Rose sighed.

The Doctor shook his head slightly. "I –"

Rose just nodded her understanding. "Alright then. No killing." She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his forehead. It was salty with sweat, but Rose didn't care. She pressed her own brow against his, trying to offer him a little bit more comfort before the pain began again. She could hear him breathing in deeply, his eyes closing as he did so. "Do you remember back in the auction room?"

The Doctor's eyes flew open, body tensing at the mere mention of that place and everything it had done to them. Rose didn't wait for his acknowledgement before continuing. "You said you loved me."

It wasn't a question. It wasn't a curiosity. It wasn't said out of some kind of need for clarification or recognition. It was just said. As factually as that the sky on Shelwick was turquoise and the grass on Earth was green.

But either way, the Doctor still responded, "Yes, I did."

Rose didn't react. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of that. But his mind wasn't completely on her at the moment. It was concentrated mainly on controlling the ripples of pain creeping up his back, nerves screaming as they were forced to meet fresh air where the skin had been ripped off, blood oozing wet and sticky down what was left of his back. Muscles still shook and twitched from where the electric whip sent shocks through his body, and a few times Jancon had even entertained himself by pressing down on his silver remote from the corner he stood in, watching the Time Lord's legs collapse out from under him as electricity coursed up through his anklet. The pain was immense and constant, though the Doctor had experienced worse and he would do so again.

Jancon seemed to get the jist of their decision. He stepped forward, pulling Rose away from the Doctor before taking hold of the Time Lord's chin gently.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" He asked casually. The Doctor glared at him.

"I can handle it."

Jancon looked thoughtful. "Yes, I'm sure you can. But can she?"

The Doctor didn't even have time to cast him a questioning look before Rose was grabbed once again and dragged towards the post. The human girl shrieked in surprise as the man grabbed one of her wrists, wrenching it up near the Doctor's shackle. Another came forward and managed to unlock the cuff before the Doctor's mind, sluggish from pain, was able to decipher what was happening.

"What – what are you doing?"

Rose's hand was snapped into the cuff he had just vacated. Her eyes were wide and frantic. "Let go of me!" She tried to writhe away from their hold but to no avail. The Doctor, now held by only one shackle, just barely managed to keep on his feet as he spun on Jancon.

"You said you wouldn't harm her!" He bellow at the Prebassador.

"Words meant to be kept between good, honest men. You, Time Lord, have been neither good nor honest. Lying about your abilities. Lying about your identity. And now disobeying your master's commands. You are not even properly considered a man, just a slave. There are no rules protecting verbal contracts with slaves, boy."

Fueled with pain and anger, the Doctor lunged at Jancon, ready to knock him to the ground for even threatening to hurt Rose. But the remaining shackle jerked him backwards, the Prebassador standing perfectly outside his reach. The movement sent a wave of pain running up his back and his knees buckled sending him into the bloodstained sand underfoot.

"The pain must be excruciating." Jancon observed from where he stood towering over his slave. "I do wonder how long she will last."

"I will kill you." Hissed the Doctor from the ground. He allowed the most amount of venom he could muster into those four words, but somehow he thought they sounded weak. Jancon looked thoughtful.

"You'll kill me so readily, yet not someone you've never met before?"

"In a hearts beat. Don't. Touch her."

Jancon smirked and snapped his fingers. The guard unclasped the Doctor's remaining shackle and wasted no time kicking him facedown into the sand, twisting his arms behind his back agonizingly and wrapping a cord around his wrists. He was yanked to his feet in time to see Rose's other hand being forced into the newly vacated cuff. She struggled in vain against the strong chains. "Lever her alone!"

"Doctor!"

"Stop it! Leave her out of this!"

"She will be excused from all further inclusion in this plan the moment you agree to complete it, John." Jancon said rationally even as he passed the whip on to the beefy guard from before. One of the men who had retrieve Rose earlier stepped forward and used a knife to snap through the straps of her dress so the fabric fell to her waist, exposing her chest and back. Rose gave a yelp of surprise and pulled even harder against the shackles. Skin broke where the metal chafed against her wrists. Tears shone in her eyes, unable to be shed through the sheer panic. The man ran a finger down her spine and she shivered visibly. Her mouth formed the word 'please', but no sound came out.

The beefy guard moved his arm back and swiftly flicked.

"NO!"

Rose screamed. The Doctor's entire body crumbled. He collapsed to his knees even as the guard tried to hold him up. His hearts shattered as Rose writhed against the whip's touch. She tried so hard to look brave, but the Doctor could see right through it. This couldn't be happening. How could this be happening? Why couldn't he protect her? Why was he so weak? Why was he so pathetic?

The guard pulled his arm back again, ready to go in for another strike. "N-NO!" The Doctor shouted again, his voice breaking over the single syllable. The lash  _cracked_ over Rose's back and she shrieked again, eyes screwed shut. She had tried hard not to make a sound, but as the electricity pulsed through her she couldn't hold it in. "Please! Stop! I'll do it! I'll do whatever you want. Just stop, please!" The Doctor begged desperately.

Tears were now soaking both of their faces, both from pain, although two completely different types. Jancon held up his hand and the beefy guard backed away a step, lowering the lash. "Is that your word, Mr. Smith?"

The Doctor sneered up at the man. "I thought you said 'Words are meant to be kept between good, honest men.' You, Jancon, are neither." But then the Doctor lowered his head, all fire extinguishing from his eyes. "But yes," He whispered. "That's my word. I swear."

There was a pause before Jancon announced cheerfully, "Well, there we have it. That wasn't so hard, now was it, John?" The Doctor just glared at the sand. "You can untie him now." Jancon told the guard holding tight to the Doctor's arms. "I am quite positive our compliant slave won't be going anywhere anytime soon."

The Doctor felt the ties around his wrists break apart. His back screamed at him as he pulled his arms in front of his body, but he pushed the pain to the back of his mind. Rose was being uncuffed from the posts now. She flinched away as the guards hand brushed against her skin. The Doctor launched himself to his feet, stumbling through the sand to catch her as the last restraint came undone. She let the Doctor pull her close but didn't say anything. The Doctor embraced her as tightly to his chest as he dared, careful of his hands on her ripped back and making sure to cover her as best he could. The dress still hung, torn and destroyed, around her hips.

As carefully as he could, the Doctor directed her down into a sitting position on the sand. Still holding her close with one arm, he reached out with the other for his discarded black shirt. His fingers managed to brush the material and he snatched it, shaking the sand off roughly before draping it around Rose. Her fingers curled around the fabric in front of her chest. She leaned against the Doctor's torso – he ignored the searing pain the contact brought to his recently received gashes – and pressed her face into his chest so as the hide the tears that coursed down it.

"Shh. I've got you, Rose. I'm sorry." The Doctor kept repeating. "I am so, so sorry."

"M'okay" She mumbled. "Just…a scratch."

"Don't act like this is okay." He practically begged her. He didn't know why he said it. Maybe because if it was okay then she would forgive him, and, even worse, he would be expected to forgive himself. And that he certainly wasn't going to do, nor would he accept her forgiveness. He kept on hurting her. No matter what he did to try and protect her, Rose was always getting hurt because of him. Back at the outpost, Rat-Face attacked her because the Doctor did something wrong (to this day he still wasn't exactly sure what). In Eyal he hadn't fought hard enough to reach her. Had reacted rashly towards her keeper, who in turn played tricks with her mind. And now here he had been so selfish and refused to allow more blood to be on his hands, only to have her own stain his fingers for his disobedience.

"Well then, let's not waste anymore time, shall we?" Jancon interrupted them and reached down as if to offer Rose a hand up, but the Doctor just glared him down and helped Rose to her feet himself. He staggered slightly as a wave of pain washed over him. Rose held onto his arm in a steadying manner. Jancon gave him a scathing look that he quickly transformed into a smile. "Come, Mr. Smith, you have much work to do. I will ensure your Rose bud will be cared for appropriately."

The Doctor squeezed Rose's upper arm and she nodded to him. She wrapped his shirt a little tighter around her shoulders as he stepped away and approached the Prebassador, trying to conceal his limp behind a glower. His shirt was still rather large on Rose, but as the Doctor walked away she noticed the way his hipbones protruded out above the waistband of his trousers. The way the ridges of his ribs pressed visibly against his taut skin. He was so skinny, skinnier that normal, which was saying quite a bit. How much pain and suffering had he been forced to endure?

The Doctor stopped right beside Jancon and lowered his voice to a threatening growl. "If you touch her one more time, slave or not, I will personally ensure that your entire life comes burning down around you."

"I look forward to that attempt, John." Jancon countered sleekly. "Now back to work."

A guard came forward, took the Doctor by the upper arm, and began to steer him back towards the underground laboratory. The Doctor stumbled along without resistance, only pausing to look over his shoulder at Rose. She had pulled her arms through the sleeves of his shirt and was still clutching it around her. The guard who had brought her down cautiously approached her and shrugged off his own jacket to sling it gently around her shoulders. The look in his eye was sympathetic, and so the Doctor was able to tear himself away, hoping the guard would treat her kindly. He could see it in the man's eyes; he was not accustom to witnessing this kind of torment, especially towards a woman.

The Doctor wanted to be there for her, holding her still, healing the gashes he was responsible for causing that now marred her back. But he knew he couldn't. He sold away his ability to comfort her by ensuring she wouldn't be further hurt, and even though he would never have gone for the latter option –  _ever_ – it was still hard for him to walk away, back beneath the surface to his secluded lab, unsure how his Rose was faring above.


	30. Chapter 30

Rat-Face awoke with a groan. Ren had been waiting for this. He sat opposite the bound Drephesh as he watched the alien struggle back to consciousness. He hadn't registered the pain. Not yet, at any rate. Ren hoped he wouldn't scream. The last thing he needed was the unnecessary, obnoxious noise.

The rodent rolled his head up from where it had been drooped against his chest and with dazed and fuzzy eyes found the Captain staring at him. He went in for a glare, but it quickly faded when he realized the burning in his fingers. He hissed as he automatically tried to draw his hands to his chest and examine why they seemed to be on fire, but he discovered instead that his wrists were tied securely to the arms of a shuttle seat. He jerked on the bounds, which only caused the pain in his fingers to heighten. He rolled his hands over as best he could and nearly vomited at what he saw.

His fingertips were bare. Where the padded skin of each finger should have been there was only raw, bleeding flesh. The slices were smooth and surgical, cleanly removing the layers of skin until nothing but muscle and bone and ligament remained. Rat-Face choked down bile, whimpering pathetically through his nose.

"Do you like my solution to the problem you caused?" Ren asked casually from where he sat. Rat-Face jerked his head up to fix Ren with a watery, panicky look. Ren reached for something across the table behind him and turned back around so Rat-Face could see what he was doing. He pulled on a tight, clear glove, the kind they used in the medical packs for short-range shuttles. But on the tips of each of the latex fingers was a patch of cleaned real skin. Rat-Face's skin.

"It's a little trick I picked up from an old Earth movie." Ren explained. "The scanners will still be able to pick up the pulse in my finger, but it will only scan the top layer of skin. Your skin, which you so kindly offered."

"W-w-why?" Rat-Face sniveled. "W-what did you d-d-do to m-me?"

Ren gave the Drephesh a disgusted scowl. "I took your identity." He sneered savagely. "Just like you took mine. So thank you…" He pressed him finger to a reader nearby and waited for it to scan, "Pesi. Hmm, you know, I never even bothered to learn your name before. I guess you just weren't important enough."

"Make it stop." Rat-Face sobbed as he threw his head back. "P-please. My fingers…they're on f-fire."

"They're not on fire, you pathetic idiot." Ren snapped. "And you're not going to bleed out either, so stop sniveling."

He didn't. His frantic breathing didn't quite as Ren removed the glove, stowed it in a safe compartment, and moved towards the cockpit. He checked the readings on the radar and scanner, keeping an eye out for anything that could be coming after them from the outpost, before punching in a few directions and letting the automatic pilot do the rest of the work. They would be arriving in just about an hour, which was fifty-nine minutes too long for Ren. Ever since the unsuccessful mission that had ended with the crash on Drephia ten years ago, the confined spaces and gentle hum of a ship in flight always set his nerves on edge.

"W-where are we going?" He heard the broken, hushed whisper from the room behind and he couldn't quite hold back the rolling of his eyes.

"To pick up some old friends." Ren answered plainly without turning around.

"And w-what are you going t-to do with m-me?"

Ren shrugged. "You're not my responsibility to deal with anymore. I could just open up the shuttle door and toss you out considering how useless you are to me now." He heard the rodent whimper at the idea and allowed for a small smile to form. "But I think I know of someone who would just jump at the chance to have you at their mercy."

"P-p-please." Rat-Face begged. "D-don't. I'm s-s-sorry. I'm sorry. Don't h-hurt me. Please."

Now Ren spun around on his heels and glared daggers at the bound man. If looks could kill… "Is that was Rose said?" He demanded harshly, eliciting a wince. "Did she ask you to stop? Did she ask you not to hurt her? Did you do it anyway? DID YOU STOP?!" He shouted the last bit as he stormed across the hull, halting to tower over the terrified Rat-Face.

"S-sh-she didn't…" Rat-Face tried to explain, to justify, but he was cut off by Ren's humorless laughter.

"No, I doubt she would. Because she's a hell of a lot braver than  _you_ are!"

Rat-Face suddenly glared up at his captor. "Why do you c-care, anyway? What's she to you?"

Ren stood back and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, nothing to me. But to the Doctor…you know, that man you and Crvas decided would be an easy target to torment?" Ren could see the little color that was left in Rat-Face's skin drain away at the mention, and he knew right then that the rodent remembered that look in their old captive's eyes just as well as he did. The fire and ice that brewed together into that hailstorm of rage, capable of shooting a man down just by one glare. That look of eternity and ancient knowledge and power that struck everyone who met him to the very core. Ren smiled devilishly. "I bet she means a whole fucking lot to him."

Rat-Face swallowed heavily, shaking even more than before. "Y-you're going to Eyal? You're g-gonna try to f-f-find them?"

Ren turned back to the cockpit, checking their ETA. Forty-nine minutes. "I'm going to try to right one of my many wrongs. I just hope I'm not too late."

* * *

A good fifteen or so minutes passed at glacier speeds before the Doctor was able to snap out of his emotionless stupor. He stood in the doorway to the lab, staring sightlessly at all the instruments surrounding him, expected to be put to use, like pieces in a deadly puzzle. He saw them – all the shiny glass and tough metal and bizarrely colorful chemicals – but his eyes were not connecting to his mind. He knew what he had to do. It was simple, really. Tedious, yes, but more or less uncomplicated. Childs' play.

If only he  _could_ disconnect his mind from his eyes. From his hands. From his conscience. Then it would be all too easy. Mix this chemical with that strain of the virus, get a blood sample, remove the nuclei, reverse the enzymes, set in an incubator, grab a cuppa, and wait for the oven to go ding. Easy-peasy. But it wasn't so easy-peasy. After the oven goes ding, the virus will be unleash on innocent, unknowing people. People with lives, possibly families. Could the Doctor tear that all apart? Again?

The Doctor flinched as he heard, once again, the crack of the whip in his mind's ear. He screwed his eyes shut as they were unwillingly assaulted with the image of Rose's face smiling at him and then suddenly crying, twisted in pain. His gut twisted as he replayed those words exchanged oh so long ago in the depths of hell.  _"Let me help you." "Yeah, like you helped back there?"_ He hadn't been strong enough to keep her from being raped then and he still couldn't protect her now.  _"If I can't protect you then what's the point of me?"_

His own words still rang true in his ears. What was he? He wasn't human no matter how much he claimed to have adopted Earth and her kind. He was hardly a Time Lord anymore – his people had retreated into legend and left him alone in reality, he broke all the rules that originally governed his species, and he wasn't even one hundred percent  _pure_ Time Lord to begin with. He heard the phantom voice of Koschei sneering at him again,  _"You half-blooded filth!"_ He  _clearly_ wasn't a hero either, could barely be a traveler without getting himself and everybody around him into trouble, and he truly sucked at just being an observer.

It seemed the only thing he really was good at being was…a killer.

"Alright, well, let's get to work." Said the Doctor dejectedly. He crackled his knuckles and ran a hand through his still over-grown hair before beginning to explore the laboratory. He pulled open cabinets and draws, cupboards and closets, taking in what was supplied and mentally keeping note of what he would need. In one closet he found a few generic white lab coats and shrugged one on painfully. The white was sure to quickly stain with the blood clotted on his back, but it was better than standing around in the cold room bare-chested and bloodied.

He set to work pulling out a few vials of provided chemicals and inspecting them. The lab was relatively, surprisingly, well stocked with a variety of supplies from basic antivirus and vaccination strains to complex chemical bonds. The Doctor pulled out a couple more vials, placed them on the table, and went hunting for some beakers and burners. He didn't have  _enough_ of the right supplies to do what Jancon wanted, but he could at least test out the equipment in the meantime. He quickly set up a maze of test tubes, beakers, burners, and condensators before getting started with the available chemicals. Soon an array of strange smelling smoke was filling the lab, but the Doctor had no protective wear other than the lab coat and his trousers. He didn't even have shoes.

About an hour later the concoction he created was set at a simmer, boiling away the access elements and thickening like stew over a fire. The Doctor had his back to the door, leaning over a table and he scribbled over a piece of paper with a pen he had scavenged from one of the drawers. Pausing for only a fraction of a second, eyes flicking upwards almost unnoticeably towards the far wall, the Doctor licked his lips and continued whatever he was writing.

"You know, I told her I was going to protect her." He finally said out loud, his voice flattened by the weight of everything he was doing and had done. He heard a soft sigh and a shuffle but still did not turn around to see Jancon unfold himself from where he had been lounging against the doorframe for a minute and saunter into the room.

"It is a good thing that's what you're doing then." The Prebassador replied reasonably. His own voice was void of the threat and strain it had taken on earlier, and now it only sounded tired.

The Doctor ground his teeth together and finished off what he was writing. He snatched up the paper and held it out, still without looking over, to Jancon, who took it curiously. "These are the supplies I'll be needing." The Doctor explained. "Nothing too difficult for someone like you to get a hold of."

Jancon read over the piece of paper with an unreadable quirk of his eyebrow. "Not at all. You did not find my laboratory equipment suitable? All the necessary supplies should be compiled here in some manner."

"Look, if you're going to make me to kill a couple dozen innocent people, then we're going to do it my way. And those are the things I need." The Doctor nodded at the paper. Jancon seemed to accept this as he bobbed his head and slid the folded piece of paper into his jacket pocket. Resisting the urge to say something else that would surely land him in even more trouble with his master, the Doctor turned back to the purple-tinted beaker shooting out lazy puffs of smoke and carefully turned off the flame. Jancon didn't say a thing and just watched as the Doctor used a pair of tongs to remove the glass from the ring stand and place it on a thick, heavy looking chemical cloth. He glanced over the temperature readings on the small screen he attached by a wire to the cloth base and gave it an impressed look. The substance had heated up much faster than he had expected. The atmosphere on this planet was probably thicker – if just slightly – than Earth's, which would account for the warm, tropical temperatures as well as the ability to heat objects quickly.

Jancon leaned against the opposite counter. "You'll be happy to know your woman is doing fine." He said as if expecting the Doctor to dance with joy. In fact, it probably should have, but all the Doctor felt at those words was the slowly boiling anger lighting up again in his belly. "I have a healer I keep on grounds and he is making sure her injuries are attended to and cared for properly."

The Doctor glared up at the opposite wall. "And how long will she have the scars?" He asked in a tense voice, the words barely escaping passed his clenched teeth. Jancon must have detected his barely controlled resentment, for he sighed again and bowed his head ever-so-slightly, staring at a spot on the floor. He no longer looked like the powerful, confident man the Doctor had grown to know and hate over the last few days.

"They will fade. Eventually." The Prebassador answered quietly. The Doctor scoffed slightly as he reached for a solution waiting measured out in a graduated cylinder. He tipped the contents into the first beaker and steam immediately erupted where the two met. The Doctor had the foresight to turn his head away, but he conveniently forgot to warn Jancon. The Prebassador coughed violently as the strangely minty smoke attacked his nose and lungs. A satisfied smirk found its way onto the Doctor's lips before he quickly wiped it off.

"What is this?" Jancon coughed through the smoke. He sounded, despite the hacking, genuinely curious.

"The best I could do for now." The Doctor answered tersely. "It's the basic fundamentals found in Oblen oil. It should heal and close up most skin injuries without leaving a scar." He poured a substantial amount into a large vial and handed it over to Jancon. "Make sure your healer gets this to Rose before they start healing on their own."

Jancon took the vial, studying it intensely for a moment, before removing the stopper from the top. "You first, Mr. Smith."

The glare he received was terrifying and short lived before the Doctor turned back to his instruments. "No. I'll heal fine, and there's not much. Rose needs it more."

"Forgive me if I require a demonstration before administering a strange, foreign substance to the poor girl."

The Doctor suddenly spun on the Prebassador, eyes blackened with anger as he stormed across the short expanse to tower over the shorter gray man. " _I_ would never hurt her,  _master._ " He ground out threateningly. Jancon stood strong, not even flinching as the infuriated Time Lord got right in his face. They held the universe's most hostile staring contest before the Doctor finally broke it by reaching for one of the small plastic tools on the counter. He used a pipette to pick up some of the new mixture in Jancon's hand and, holding out one of his chafed and bloodied wrists from hanging in the shackles, released a few drops onto his torn skin. There was a hiss as the chemical snaked its way into the wound and began knitting the skin back together. A moment later that patch of his wrist was back to its normal, smooth standard. "Happy?" He sneered.

A raising of the eyebrows was the only indication that Jancon heard the hostility in the Doctor's voice. "I am content, yes." He replied flatly, popping the stopper back on the vial and handing it to a guard standing watch nearby. "Bring this to Miss Rose and ensure it is well used." Jancon instructed and the guard gave a short 'yes, sir' before bowing out of the room.

Silence that could have rent the entire universe in half from sheer loathing cackled in the air between the remaining two. The Doctor turned the burners off fully, disconnecting them from the gas gages and winding up the cord. Jancon still had yet to move from his spot, causing a tingling of annoyance in the Doctor's shoulders. He leaned heavily against the counter and sighed. "Is there anything else I can do for you,  _master_?" His voice dripped with distain. Jancon shifted angrily but managed to keep his voice level and measured.

"You could show me a small amount of respect, John."

The Doctor nearly laughed. "You haven't  _earned_ my respect. In fact, you're doing a pretty fine job of ensuring you're never going to."

"You  _drove_ me to these actions." Jancon stepped closer to the Doctor, who instinctively stepped away. His back still seared with each movement of the muscles beneath his skin, but he bit back a hiss of pain as one of the gashes began oozing blood again. "It was not my intention to harm you, and especially not to involve your human. She has suffered enough, do you not think?"

The Doctor didn't answer that she had suffered more than he probably knew because of his stupid actions. He also didn't answer that he agreed with the man. It was because of his stubbornness and inability to foresee the consequences of his decisions that caused the events of that day. Instead, he just glared at a spot on the far wall. For some reason he couldn't bring himself to look Jancon in the eye.

Jancon clasped his hands together behind his back and surveyed his insubordinate slave. "When you arrived here, I was prepared to offer you and your mate a comfortable life. I gave you your own room, a comfortable bed, nice clothes, access to food, a significant amount of freedom considering I had no knowledge of your disposition; all liberties usually refused to any slave, let alone a recent purchase. I asked you kindly to complete this task with the promise of freedom upon completion. I even overlooked you deliberate lie about you identity,  _John Smith_." His eyes raked the Doctor once more, seeming unimpressed. "Not the typical name of a Time Lord, but I allowed it to slide in order to provide you a sense of security behind your elected mask. And defiance is how you planned to repay my kindnesses?"

Now the Doctor did laugh. It was a low, dark, short kind of laugh that cut off quickly as he shook his head. "So you buy me a fancy dinner and then expect me to put out? Sorry, I'm not that kind of date."

"So you have made evident." Stated Jancon. "And I have been forced to adapt. But I admit, I reacted harshly to you previous answer. I was taken off-guard, not expecting an outright refusal; prepared to make bargains and strike deals accordingly so as to, in a way, purchase your loyalty if I had to, but it seemed you were not buyable. Well, clearly you  _are_ buyable in the physical sense, for I  _do_ own you, and therefore I was forced to exercise my right as a slave master to punish my recalcitrant slaves." There was a pause as Jancon sighed. "I am not explaining this so as to try to earn your forgiveness, and certainly not to earn your respect, but simply to explain that I did not intend to resort to violent coercion. And I hope we can overlook this and not return to this kind of action and reaction in the future."

The Doctor didn't respond. He was starting to shiver slightly. The room was cool and he still had nothing on but the thin lab coat and his trousers, and judging from the way the coat stuck to his back as if from adhesive, the Doctor guessed he had lost more blood than he had anticipated. Not to mention the fact that his mind was currently being attacked by a little voice. An annoying little voice he became all too familiar with in the recent weeks but had not heard for a few days. It was growing louder, insistent.  _You disobeyed your master. You threatened your master. You made eye contact with your master. Bow your head. Get on your knees. Say you're sorry. Beg for forgiveness. Don't speak unless spoken to._

He swallowed as if the small involuntary action would silence the voice. He didn't know why. Why was this voice speaking up now? Why was he shaking? Backing up against the opposite counter, trying to look strong, eyes downcast to the sterile white tile floor of the oppressing lab? He forced his eyes upwards, focusing on the Prebassador's nose rather than his gray-white eyes, and convinced his eyebrows to angle down aggressively.

"I'm going to need the items on that list." He managed to press passed the lump forming deep in the back of his throat. The words were clipped, heavy, and finite, and Jancon knew they were his sign to leave. While normally disinclined to comply with a slave's demands, Jancon was realizing that, with this one, there would have to be some compromising, some sort of middle ground achieved to ensure his participation. And so the Prebassador bowed his head lightly, not in a submissive way but in an understanding way, and took his leave.

The Doctor remained alone in the laboratory, the air smelling of blood and chemicals. He collapsed into a nearby chair, his shakes increasing even more as blood pounded in his ears. He ran his hands through his hair, scrubbing as if trying to rid his scalp of something stuck there, harder than entirely necessary so his mop of brown hair was more disgruntled than ever before he contented with resting his face in his palms. He breathed deeply and tried to ignore the metallic smells assaulting his nose.

Down the hall he could hear the clanking of metal, the shouts of orders, and the grunts of a man in action. Jancon's competitor was hard at work, fighting, training, for a death the Doctor was positive he was about to ensure. A single tear escaped through the bars of entwined fingers.

* * *

"You'll be fine, my dear." The kindly medic announced as he snapped his case full of herbs, vials, and syringes shut. He picked up the container that once held the essence of Oblen oil and gently flicked the side twice. A soft  _ting_ noise sounded in the quiet room, but only a few drops of the remaining substance fell to the bottom of the vial. "I will order the slave to make more for our stocks, just in case. In the mean time, avoid laying on your back, my dear."

Rose didn't say anything. Her eyes stared dimly and distantly at the far wall, the patterns of the wallpaper blurring together as her eyes danced out of focus. She was back in the room that had been designated for her back in the main house, sitting in the center of the bed with her knees drawn up to her chest. The medic sighed and mumbled something indiscernible about "unacceptable actions" before he backed out of the room. The door slid shut behind him, leaving the human girl alone.

Moments later there was the awaited  _click_  of the door locking. Rose's eyes darted to the dark wood, suddenly alight with life, and sprang from the bed. Her back tingled a little bit where the two gashes had once marred her skin, but whatever that was that the Doctor created had done it's work. Her skin had knitted back together relatively successfully and in record time. The pain was not even so intense.

She cast one more heated look at the door, imaging the look fell on the medic, who she instantly decided she didn't like.  _The slave,_ he had said. He would order  _the slave_ to make more medicine. It disgusted her that he would refer to anyone, especially the Doctor, in such an uncaring, off-handed way.

She hurried across the rather large room to a desk of drawers and rifled through the lowest one. She had told Ilaria she was a fan of drawing, how it calmed her and helped settle her thumping heart. The woman, who Rose truly did believe meant well, immediately supplied her with a stack of parchment and an array of sketch pencils, ink pens, paints, and colors after making Rose agree to showcase her art for her at some point during her stay. Rose had no intention of displaying her "art".

A rough sketch of the estate was drawn out on the paper. Rooms and halls and passage ways Rose had traveled down had been detailed, with arrows indicating which paths lead to an exit. Snatching up one of the fine, expensive looking specialty pencils, Rose quickly drew in the new landmarks; she shuddered as she drew a rough square near the neatly drawn servant's quarters – featuring a detailed path to the Doctor's room – which indicated the servant's yard she had just witnessed the Doctor being tortured in, before penciling in the doorway along the side of the main house where the Doctor had disappeared. She put a question mark over the door, now knowing what could possibly be down there but needing to find out.

She studied the makeshift map, trying to find a way to discreetly get down to that door and find the Doctor. She had to see him, needed to talk to him where there was no one around. She didn't dare say anything to him earlier when she woke him up; she wasn't sure how long she had and how well he would understand, she couldn't risk messing up.

The truth was, she couldn't stay there any longer. Sure, she wasn't living in constant fear of pain anymore, wasn't forced to sleep on a cold, uncomfortable grated floor, meals were regular and far more stomachable than anything else she'd had in months, and she was no longer crippled by the idea of being sold to someone less than agreeable. But the fact remained that they were still  _not_ free, and the Doctor was surely about to do something he will regret for the rest of his very, very long life. And she had to stop him.

 _It might not be that hard…_ Rose thought as she examined the map. Maybe she could just  _ask_  Ilaria to let her down there. The woman trusted her – they all did, in fact, even Jancon. It is hard not to trust a kicked puppy, and Rose was being very convincing in her little charade. She hated have to constantly act weak, forcing her body to flinch when men walked by and her shoulders to curl over and down to make herself look as small and pitiable as possible. But as the Doctor was currently proving very well thanks to his thick head and even thicker sense of morals, defiance wasn't the key.

The small and pathetic get the love, get the help, and then get ignored. That was what Rose was counting on. That was what Rose learned in Eyal when that one guard brought her a slice of bread because she was scared and lonely and oh so sad to look at. And then suddenly she found herself left alone by the other guards on duty as well. That was what got her through that place and that was what was going to get them out of this one. If only the Doctor doesn't managed to screw this one up as well, they might actually be able to do something right.


	31. Chapter 31

The air outside was surprisingly cool and refreshing. The last few days had been a bit too hot and sticky for her liking, coming from the cold and foggy streets of London. It was still warm enough for her to comfortably wear the shorts and blouse she had selected for the day – she had begged Ilaria to find her something other than dresses, they were just too hard to sneak away in, and after the woman's initial disapproval of anything as lowly and common as pant legs, she had conceded – and Rose thought dreamily of how much she would have enjoyed these kinds of days, meandering around with the Doctor, had there situation been different.

Rose allowed herself to enjoy the walk through the estate yard. It was the first time she'd been allowed to really be on her own outside the walls of the main house. There was no guard guiding her around, no servants keeping their watchful, knowing eyes on her as she passed. When she asked Ilaria if she could see the Doctor alone, she was surprised by how quickly Ilaria said yes. Even Jancon, who had been lounging in a chair close to them that morning, enjoying what Rose thought looked like a mimosa and reading over the latest political drama of their planet, had agreed excitedly, believing it to be the perfect reward for his slave who was in need of a pick-me-up.

She felt oddly like a young teen asking her parents if she could go on a date with a boy she liked. In a way, she guessed it was like that.

When she reached the door concealed along the side of the building, a guard was there to greet her – not unkindly, but she could have done with a smile at least – and direct her down the hallways towards the Doctor. As they passed the main training room she peeked in and saw the two men, trainer and competitor, hard at work. The room smelled strongly of blood and sweat. Another hallway and they passed through a door, cutting off the sounds of exercise behind them. "Right through there." The guard said gruffly as he indicated one of the open doors at the end of the hall. Another guard was standing just outside the threshold. His eyes surveyed her as she approached and Rose was careful to lower her gaze in a submissive manner. As ordered, he stepped aside and let Rose enter.

The lab was in disarray. The instruments used the day before to create the Oblen solution were sitting in a large industrial-sized sink, soaking in a bath of murky water that clearly once held bubbles. There were pieces of parchment strewn across the work spaces, some even finding their way to the floor. Marker had etched complicated equations on the glass window dividing a portion of the room.

And right smack dab in the middle of the insanity was the Doctor. The sleeves of his lab coat had been pushed up to his elbows and there were ink stains all over his fingers. His hair was practically standing on end and frankly looked a little charred, not the mention that the room smelled slightly of burned hair. He had his back to the door as he leaned over one of the tables, examining a piece of paper and scribbling away frantically.

"What's that they say about keeping a tidy workplace?"

The Doctor spun around and grinned maniacally at the sight of her. "'Cleanliness clouds creativity'?"

"Hmm…no, I was going for something more along the lines of 'cleanliness is next to godliness'. But each to their own, I guess." Rose muttered as she carefully navigated the maze of papers on the floor. "You're looking happier." She noted as she took in the way the Doctor was standing tall again, eyes sparkling as they darted between the drawings and symbols on the pages. He even cast her a sly sideways smile.

"Finally got something to do!" He hummed in excitement. "I came to the realization last night that there's really no point in moping about. And I don't feel quite so bored and useless now that I finally have something to distract myself with." The Doctor quickly flashed his 'crazy-eyes' look at Rose, who couldn't help but laugh.

"Okay, Sherlock, take it easy." A somber look quickly came over her. "So you're really doin this? Whatever 'this' is, you never did tell me anyway."

The Doctor shrugged non-committally. "Don't really have much of a choice, do I? Jancon made me an offer I just couldn't refuse. Bah!" He extenuated that with a quick slash of his pen over a section of his notes. "Never would have worked. What was I thinking? The molecular bonds are too weak." He scribbled something new into the margins before leaning back to inspect it. "There. What do you think? Much better, right?"

Rose raised an eyebrow. "It's all in Gallifreyan." She pointed out plainly.

"Exactly!" He tossed the pen back onto the table harshly, where it skidded and fell off the other side. The Doctor waved his hand flippantly and ignored the pens escape.

"Are you drunk?" She asked half jokingly, half serious. The Doctor laughed.

"You know that point you get to when you're so tired you practically become delusional? Yeah, well, I'm about fifty kilometers  _passed_ that point." And with that he plopped down on the ground and fell face forward, laying spread out on his stomach with his head resting in his arms. An elongated groan escaped from beneath his arms. "Urg, my head…"

Rose glanced around, slightly confused, before letting out an exasperated sigh. She bent down and grabbed the unwilling Time Lord by the elbow.

"Alright, sleeping beauty." She managed to drag him upright and into a nearby chair. "You just need to recharge. Come on, I brought you some breakfast." She pulled out a sandwich she had managed to scavenge out from under Mrs. Sinh nose and began unwrapping it. "Thought you might be hungry with all the brain-stormin goin on down here."

This instantly perked the Doctor up again. "Rose Tyler, you really are my saving grace, you know that, right?"

"'Course I do." She wheeled another chair across the room and took up a place beside him. The Doctor bite into the sandwich and chewed slowly. "It's no corner shop chips and vinegar, but whatcha gonna do."

"It's wonderful." The Doctor replied through his mouthful. "Really. Thank you."

The Doctor took another bite while Rose rested her head on the table. "Not very bright, are they?" She said suddenly. "Making you do something and then not letting you eat or sleep. Seems more counterproductive than anything."

"Well, I haven't exactly been the most," He swallowed his bite. "Obedient of slaves, have I?" Rose didn't respond. She wanted to say something along the lines of 'you're not a slave', but they were done fooling themselves.  _She_ might have been granted a liberal amount of freedom, but the Doctor certainly hadn't been.

"Now, tell me," Rose was jolted out of her thoughts by the Doctor's loud voice. He pinned her down with another one of his signature stares, the kind that made her wonder if one of his Time Lord abilities included seeing straight through someone's soul. "How are you?" Rose opened her mouth to answer, but the Doctor beat her to it with a wave of his hand. "And don't give me that rubbish about being fine. I want to know exactly how you're feeling and thinking, because quite frankly you've been changing your attitude so often lately you're giving me whiplash."

He sank his teeth into another bite still without taking his eyes off her. It was jolting how casual his words were paired with how intense his gaze rested upon her. A sudden wave of guilt rushed over her. He was, of course, always going to be worrying over her, and her purposefully bi-polar mood swings were probably freaking him out. "Sorry…"

The Doctor waved it away again. "Naw. No apologies. I just want to make sure you're really okay with whatever crazy idea you've got forming inside that silly human head of yours. Oww!"

Rose had punched him in the arm. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Doctor. And stop cryin, I didn't punch you that hard." She added as the Doctor continued to cradle the shoulder her fist collided with. He tried to inhale quietly though his nose, but it came out too sharp and Rose noticed. He pulled his hand away, his fingers now lightly stained a deep red orange. "Oh God."

Rose jumped up as she saw the thin line of blood already soaking through the sleeve of the coat he was wearing. "It's alright. It's alright." The Doctor tried to calm her as she instantly began to fuss over him. Before he knew it she had pulled the lab coat off his shoulders and was staring, horrified, at his unhealed back. "You just reopened one of them, it's fine. It'll heal over again soon."

"Why didn't they give you any of that ointment stuff?" She shot back as she began pulling open the closest drawers, looking for something to wipe the blood off with. The Doctor shrugged with the one less injured shoulder.

"I didn't make enough for two of us." He answered simply.

Rose managed to find a draw filled with some gauze and sanitizing wipes. "I thought the medic came down to have you make more."

"He did. Jancon told him off though. Said not to waste my valuable time making silly potions when I had real work to get to." His tone took on a sarcastic song-like quality before suddenly becoming dark. "It's not like I even have the right materi –  _polysyconomyn!_ "

The Doctor sprang to his feet, nearly knocking Rose backwards, and basically dove over the table to snatch his pen from the floor. Rose gave an exasperated sigh as a few more of the scabbed strips of skin on his back cracked open and began to ooze blood from the movement. "There's really no use telling you to sit still, is there?"

"Of course, how could I be so stupid? I'm getting blind in my old age." He mumbled as he reappeared on the other side of the table and began drawing the circles of his native language again. His companion just rolled her eyes as she accepted that he wasn't even listening to her anymore, too engrossed in his little project. It was a relief, actually, to see him so happily distracted, even if she was worried about what he had agreed to do in order to achieve this happiness. She glanced down at the papers again, squinting as if that would help her understand the ancient language.

"Why did you say 'exactly' before?"

"Hmm?" The Doctor asking with his tongue sticking out between his teeth, too focused on writing out another long equation to form actual words.

"Earlier, when I pointed out everything was written in Gallifreyan, you said 'exactly'."

Still not taking his eyes or pen off the paper. "Rose, how many creatures in the universe still understand circular Gallifreyan?"

Rose took a very educated guess. "You?"

"Yep. Me."

"So…you're writing out all you notes and calculations in circular Gallifreyan so that you are the only one that can read it." Then it clicked. "That way Jancon or anyone who see these won't be able to recreate whatever you're making."

"Bingo!" The Doctor stood and stared down at what he'd just written. A frown quickly formed on his face. "No, not polysyconomyn. What was I thinking? Rose, why'd you let me write that down?" The pen slashed across the page again, obliterating whatever the symbol for polysyconomyn was.

Rose just rolled her eyes. "Alright, come on. Time for bed."

"But it's only 10:38 in the morning." The Doctor whined without even look at a clock.

"Yes, and you've been up for how long?"

The Doctor hung his head like a dejected child. "Twenty-eight hours and forty-three minutes." He mumbled to his bare feet. Rose couldn't have felt more like a mother having to drag her overgrown, 900 year-old son to his bedtime as she grabbed his arm and pulled him out the door.

The guard on the other side moved as if to intercept them, but Rose had already transformed. Her shoulders suddenly rounded, her body shifting slightly so that it almost appeared she was hiding behind the Doctor's arm instead of leading it. Her large, dewy-brown eyes lifted to meet the guards as she said, "I'm s-sorry, but I was told by Madam Ilaria to t-take the slave back to his quarters. He n-needs his rest."

The man looked over her at the Doctor and must have noticed the heavy bags beneath his eyes, which were slightly bloodshot from staring so hard as his research and equations, for the guard stepped aside with a huff and let them pass. Rose continued the act until they were all the way down the hall, passed the two men in the training room who were apparently trying to kill each other in a boxing ring. As the ground began to rise so did her spirits, and the Doctor couldn't help but shake his head in amusement. "Are you sure you've never taken acting lessons before?"

"Oh, I have." She answered with a smirk on her voice. "While you were busy flirting with Ingrid Bergman, Humphrey taught me a few tricks of the trade."

A whimsical nostalgia painted the Doctor's voice as he said "Oh, yeah. We really should spend more time on movie sets from now on."

"Does this mean you're not grounding me back to Earth once we're out of this?" Rose tried to keep from sounding too hopeful.

Silence followed her question as the Doctor pushed the door open, flooding the tunnel with light, but she let his lack of response slide. It didn't really matter what the Doctor decided in the end. She wasn't going to leave him. And not just because she didn't want to – you can't just show someone all of time and space and the expanse of history and all the worlds beyond chip shops and taxi cabs and then just drop them back off at the tube station and say 'pip pip, cheerio'. Rose knew her Time Lord was going to need her. They had come so far together since they had first met, back when the Doctor was all about leather jackets and angst and blaming himself for the destruction of his entire planet, but she could see him coming undone again. With everything he was being forced into now – slavery, murder – it was no surprise that he was standing on the precipice of a downward spiral. They both were. And that was why Rose would refuse to leave. She would go so far as to tying herself to the TARDIS console if she had to. They both needed each other. They both needed to heal.

But now was not the time to bring it up. She walked the Doctor back to his room, where Mrs. Sinh gave them one of the coldest motherly looks Rose had ever seen that it could rival her own mother's, before beginning to lecture the Doctor about the fact that he wasn't wearing his shackles. They waved her off – a bit rudely on the Doctor's part, and Rose was worried he might come to regret that later – and the Doctor collapsed on his bed the moment it was within sight.

Two months ago Rose would have laughed at the idea of the Doctor ever sleeping. He was always so alive, alert, awake, and overly enthusiastic that it seemed nearly impossible to imagine him being able to settle down long enough to take more than a short cat-nap. But now Rose sat beside him for what felt like the twelfth time in the last few weeks as he drifted off into the protective bubble of sleep, stroking his unruly hair as he did so, and seeing both the ancient man and the lost child appearing all at once in his vulnerable face.

**TBC**


	32. Chapter 32

Shelwick was known throughout the universe for having the most beautiful sunsets the eye could ever behold. The way the azure sky melts like rich, thick chocolate beneath the heat of the setting sun and softens into violet one fading streak at a time…how the sun in the east glows young and yellow just above the horizon as it's older partner sinks out of sight along the southern rim, casting the landscape into a faux-twilight state haloed with gold.

Before this whole adventure, the Doctor had even thought about bringing Rose here to see it one day, just like he had with Sarah once upon a time. She would have loved to lie in the tall grass surrounding Audali Square in the lakeside city of Carsala and watch the sibling suns slips behind the waves of the enormous lake. It was still beautiful here on the estate – which the Doctor deduced to be just a twenty minute shuttle flight from the capital city of Awahow – but he wondered if she would still be interested in visiting Carsala once they were set free, or if she would rather just leave this planet behind for good.

He hadn't had a chance to see many of the sunsets since they arrived at the Prebassador's estate a week ago. A few hours after Rose tucked him into bed that one morning, stroking his hair lovingly until he fell into a blissful sleep, he was summoned to get back to work, needing to perform a few menial, yet equally laborious tasks for Mrs. Sihn (he couldn't figure out why she was acting so affronted) before he was sent back to the laboratory. By then Jancon had acquired most of the ingredients the Doctor needed to create the virus and he began to get to work. Most of his equations from before were still reliable, but the few he had been toying with towards the end had changed to absolute gibberish chicken-scratch to his well-rested eyes and he was forced to reevaluate them all. Everything was in the experimental phase and the Doctor was still testing out his equations and theories in order to create the safest, least painful, least messy concoction he could design – while at the same time looking for any possible loophole in Jancon's scheme to take advantage of. And because of this his days in the lab began early and ended very late with him collapsing, usually still fully clothed, into bed until it all began again.

Despite this, however, the Doctor had seen quite a bit of Rose over the last five days. Whether she was ordered to by Jancon, who had realized quickly that the Doctor worked better when his spirits weren't so bogged down, or if Rose was just really good at sneaking away from Ilaria, she always managed to get down to the laboratory for a few hours each day, usually bringing some food she'd snatched from the kitchens. Those hours flew by so much faster than the rest that the Doctor even questioned his own internal clock. They would tease each other like old times, laugh, reminisce about past adventures, and wonder where they would be off to next. It was almost like everything was back to normal.

And it was during these times that the Doctor realized how terribly wrong something was.

The Doctor knew Rose was strong. Hell, she was the strongest. But she wasn't  _this_ strong. No one was this strong. Not even the Doctor could  _pretend_ to be this strong, and he had had centuries of practice under his belt. He still sometimes dreamed about the steel walls and tiled floor he was beaten into by Bachir, the oppressing heat of the desert pressing against their cell on Drephesh, how the grated floor of the Eyal cages dug into his back as he tried to curl up and find just one comfortable position in the tiny enclosure. He would still flinch, even if it was hardly noticeable, whenever there was a sound that even remotely resembled the crack of a whip or the cackle of loose electricity. He was coping, adjusting, but only just, the memories of their time in captivity too recent and overpowering.

But Rose…Rose, whenever she wasn't shrinking away from others in her never-ending act of submission, was a right bubble of joy. She would come into the lab, chipper as a song bird, poking fun at the Doctor and occasionally commenting on his work as if she had any idea what he was doing – to her credit, she really did try to follow his ridiculously long-winded scientific explanations that he had no idea meant absolutely nothing to anyone else listening. It was almost as if she hadn't gone through the same trauma he had. No, she went through  _worse_ – the Doctor had to screw his eyes shut as he remembered the cool metal cutting into his wrists as Rat-Face bore down on Rose, the look of absolute fear in her eyes – but now she acted as if it were simply an unpleasant distant memory. She was a far cry now from the girl the Doctor had comforted back in the auction room only days earlier, and while on a level he was overrun with relief that she seemed okay now, he couldn't help but wonder what happened. Why was she acting like she was…forgetting.

 _You know why_ , a small voice spoke up in his ear. The Doctor shook his head. Could it possibly be that? Could it really be his fault? He was out of practice when he did it, having promised himself he would never,  _ever_ purposefully alter someone's memories unless the situation was extremely dire, but would he be so rusty on the skill that he would forget to close the door behind him? Was Rose  _actually_ forgetting what had happened to her because  _he_ had been sloppy when he suppressed her memories of her rape?

But the greatest question was: Was this something to be upset about?

"Of what are you thinking?" Came the silky voice of Jancon from the opposite desk. The Prebassador had taken to visiting him in the later hours of the day, never when Rose was around. He would bring his work and sit down at the one unoccupied table in the room. At first the Doctor thought it was to watch over him, but as time passed he began to suspect that the Prebassador was only looking for some company. Forced company, as it may be, but from what the Doctor had seen, his and Ilaria's relationship wasn't exactly all lovey-dovey. Sometimes he really thought Jancon was just…lonely.

The Doctor gave a loud sigh in response. "Trying to decide if I should use hydropolyethinal to expand the fluid within the capsule to release it, or if cosonitric acid would be better at dissolving the casing wall."

He heard Jancon chuckle as he leafed through his papers. "For that, I cannot help you."

"No, didn't think so." The Doctor relied as he returned to the microscope. The casing Jancon provided as a sample of what will be insulating the capsules containing the virus strain on the competitor's tags sat in the small glass Petri dish beneath the lens. The capsule proved tougher than the Doctor originally thought it would. It seemed Jancon really didn't want any accidental releases. He couldn't afford to have the competitors go berserk before there were snatchers around to kill.

In the silence that followed – which was not unfamiliar during Jancon's visits – the Prebassador suddenly spoke up again, eyes not leaving the documents in front of him. "You marvel me, Time Lord."

"Yep, well, I'm a pretty marvelous being." Was the Doctor's frivolous response.

Jancon continued as if the Doctor had not said anything. "You contradict every expectation I had of your race." Now the Doctor didn't say a word. If Jancon were looking he would have been able to see the way the Doctor's shoulders tensed beneath his thin black shirt, but as it was, his eyes still did not his work. "I've read reports and histories of your people; they were proud beings, anciently wise, impassive, vowing never to interfere with the ongoings of the rest of the primitive universe. And yet before me stands – at least what appears to be – a young man full of energy and casual of speech. You are not what I was expecting."

"I like to keep people on their toes." The Doctor murmured, once more looking into the microscope to see the effects of the hydropolyethinal on the capsule wall.

"But what astounds me the most is your existence." At this, the Doctor all but appeared to freeze, fingers hovering over the focus knobs on the lens. His hearts hammered beneath his chest agonizingly, blood thick with guilt and regret, but his face remained void of any reaction. He had trained himself to no longer react visually as the waves of sorrow crashed over him like the aftershock of the explosion that took away his people and his planet. Jancon wouldn't even have noticed the change. "I had heard they were all extinct, destroyed during that terrible war we tell our children about in ghost stories. But here you stand, living proof that the race carries on. How could that possibly have come about?"

The Prebassador sounded genuinely curious. There was no hint of condescension or mocking in his voice, and the Doctor did not believe he was asking out of sinister means. But either way, the Doctor pulled the slide out from under the microscope without having actually, properly looked at the reaction of the two substances meeting, and placed it carefully alongside the other samples on a tray. "Naw, let's not talk about me." He tried to sound casual, as if the subject weren't even remotely interesting to him. "What about you? You're much more interesting. Especially the fact that you always have all this work to do, and yet I've never heard of you leaving the estate for a senate or ambassadorial meeting."

Jancon laughed quietly as he smoothed the documents out on the table. "No. I do not make a habit of attending those gatherings. My father still holds our seat in the stands. I merely act as an assistant to him, of sorts, looking over the records and files," He indicated the piles of papers on the desk. "While also keeping up the public profile he is no longer able to sustain. He is an old man now, so I am responsible for attending dinners and openings in his name along with making appearances at a few of the minor meetings so as to gain a better education of the mantel I will one day inherit. My father is getting on in his years," And he actually did sound regretful about it. For some reason the Doctor had not pegged Jancon as the family-friendly type. "It should not be long from now that I will be required to take his place. And then I will lamentably no longer be able to take part in such leisurely activities as attending parties and organizing 'illegal' gambling events. I may one day be required to retract my involvement in the Trials all together."

"No day like today." The Doctor quipped, which only caused Jancon smile to widen. He nodded almost understandingly.

"I know you do not approve, you have made that abundantly clear. I simply hope my incentive of freedom is enough to ensure your assistance."

"Hey, I'm helping you, am I not?" The Doctor asked, spreading his arms out to show off the various bubbling, simmering, and smoking concoctions in development within the maze of glass chemistry instruments. "I just want to get Rose out of here and back home. I'm done complaining. Now I'm just working."

He stated the last point with enough finality in his voice to carry them back into a silence. Only the boiling of one of the chemicals in the background penetrated the hush.

 _IS it something I should be upset about?_  The Doctor suddenly returned to the topic he had been thinking about before. Yes, he should be upset, because one's memories are their most prized possessions. They are pure and unique and you can learn so much and grow so much from them. You can conquer old fears or get lost in the embrace of someone from long ago. Memories can be happy. Memories can be horrible. But they are still your memories to be had and interpreted at your own will, and no one should take that right away from you.

But no, he shouldn't be upset about it. He shared the same memories. He had witnessed her pain, went through the same suffering of being trained as a slave, treated like an animal, kept in constant discomfort and fear. And he wished, as he had so many times when thinking about the Time War, that someone would come along and erase his memories as well so he would have to be tortured for the rest of his own impossibly long life by the recollections of his pain and failure.

He never did forget, though. He never could. Even if someone did have the ability to alter such a large memory anyway, he would probably tell them no. He  _needed_ to remember. He owed that much to the people whose lives he had destroyed. He  _needed_ to remember his failings so as to avoid them again in the future.

But was this something  _Rose_ needed to remember?

The Doctor couldn't answer his own questions, but there was one thing he was certain of. Rose needed to be given her own choice in the matter. He had to allow her to make her own decision. He would tell her what he did to her memories back at the outpost and what he thought was happening now and let her choose what she wanted to have done about it. If she wanted to release the restrained memory of Rat-Face violating her, then, as much as the Doctor hated it, he would oblige. She had the right to make her own decisions over her own memories.

Just as he decided this and slid another slide under the microscope – this one a sample of the condensated vapor from a slightly purple chemical he had been boiling earlier – there came a huge crash from down the hall, followed by a loud, shrill cry of agonizing pain. The Doctor leapt up and was already sprinting out the door before his mind even had time to register what had happened. There was another shriek of pain, quieter this time and fractured by a loud sob, and the Doctor took off in the direction of the training room. Jancon was hot on his heels, abandoning his paperwork in the lab. They spun around the corner into the training room and Jancon froze, sucking in a sharp gasp at the sight before him.

The Doctor was already at the competitor's side, kneeling on the floor which was quickly beginning to seep with blood. The competitor was laying spread-eagle on his back, his right leg twisted awkwardly beneath him in the wrong direction. White bone stuck out from his thigh, the splintered tip poking out like a jagged spear.

"Shh, quiet, it's alright." The Doctor was saying in his calming voice as the man sputtered and gasped for air. The Doctor's had one hand squeezing his shoulder comfortingly as the other moved to inspect the injury. But the man wheezed out a cry as the Doctor's fingers trailed over the already swelling skin and trying to wiggle out of contact, which only caused more pain and injury.

"It's alright," The Doctor repeated. "I'm a doctor. Let me look at it." The man finally relented and the Doctor was able to examine the leg. It was  _not_ a clean break. The bone was sticking out about two inches from the skin and was roughly ridged at the end. There were no doubt fractured fragments inside the leg still. If they remained in there they could cause serious damage, maybe even fatal it one of their sharp edges nicked an artery. This man needed to go into surgery. There was no way he could set the bone here.

"What's your name?" He asked the competitor, trying to keep the morbid and unfortunate news out of his voice and face.

"L-lysan-der." The man gasped.

"Lysander. My name is John. I need you to remain perfectly still for me, okay? Just keep breathing deeply. That's it." The Doctor reassured him as the man tried his best to stop the trembling. Lysander yelped as the Doctor put pressure on the leg again. "I need to straighten the leg, otherwise swelling will occur and cut off circulation to the lower areas." The Doctor tried to explain rationally.

The man nodded, eyes screwed shut in anticipation of the pain. The Doctor glanced up quickly to see Jancon still hovering uselessly in the doorway. "Call for the medic." He told the Prebassador, thinking how that should have been common sense.

But Jancon just shook his head, eyes wide as they took in the amount of blood pulsing out of the punctured skin. "I cannot." He replied rather breathlessly. The Doctor felt an impatient anger rise within him.

"He needs a surgeon." He growled out as he began to move the man's calf out from beneath him as carefully and painlessly as he could.

"I cannot call for him." Jancon repeated, sounding less aghast than before. "He is not on grounds. He has traveled to Carsala in order to gather the ingredients for that solution you made earlier this week."

The Doctor grumbled. Yes, this was definitely a situation in which he could have used some Oblen oil, at least to heal the gaping gash once the bone is reset. "Then he needs to be taken to a hospital. X-rays need to be done, there could be loose bone fragments entering the blood system."

Jancon, infuriatingly, just shook his head again. "He is a slave. No hospital will treat him."

"He needs a surgeon!" The Doctor repeated harshly. "If we don't get those pieces out and set the bone correctly he could die!"

He watched as Jancon swallowed thickly and saw the impeccably composed image Jancon always portrayed slipping away at the sight of this disaster. And then suddenly the Prebassador states in a quiet voice, "He's a slave. He's disposable."

A threatening growl escaped between the Doctor's clenched teeth. "Don't you dare."

Jancon swallowed again. He was eyeing the angry Time Lord like a hunted animal, trying to hide in a bush. "Then what do we do?"

The Doctor had already turned his attention back to the broken leg. Lysander had passed out at some point during their argument from the pain, which worried the Doctor but actually made his job much easier. He checked how deep the puncture went, if the ebony bone was from the femur or a dislocated shard of the tibia, and if there was anything else broken in the lower leg and hips. "I need clean bandages, some rags, hot water, any kind of antiseptic you can find, and painkillers, nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs would be best. The strongest stuff you've got. And something to create a splint with." He listed off the materials as he tore off the already tattered leg of Lysander's trousers before looking up to see Jancon still standing, stunned, in the doorway. "Now!"

The Doctor knew he would regret speaking so harshly to his master later, but for now there was no time to play good-slave. Lysander needed medical attention immediately. Already he had lost an astounding amount of blood. The Doctor used the discarded pant leg as a makeshift bandage, pressing it against the wound to stop the bleeding until Jancon returned with the rest of the supplies.

As if an afterthought, the Doctor realized the trainer was still standing behind him, face a statue of shock. "What happened?" The Doctor demanded as he continued to press the already sopping fabric to the injury, careful to avoid touching the protruding bone as much as possible.

"We were doing our routine exercises." The trainer answered with only a slight quiver in his voice. "Lysander was on the platforms working his way to the top as we have done often. But his leg got tangled on one of the ropes as he was climbing up to the next platform, and when he went to stand up he was pulled backwards. He was off balance and fell off the edge. The rope was still wrapped around his leg and it caught him as he fell. That's when I heard the first crack." The trainer winced as his own story brought up the recent memory. "Th-the sudden weight must have caused the rope to snap, because suddenly he was falling towards the floor. That's when I think the bone broke skin."

The Doctor glanced up at said platforms. The topmost one brushed just below the ceiling nearly seventy feet off the ground. He could see the frayed remains of what he assumed was the rope that caused all this hanging harmlessly alongside another platform forty feet above them. Lysander had fallen nearly forty feet from that platform, and probably would have been falling head first judging from the way the trainer explained the accident. It was a miracle he didn't land on his head and crack open his skull.

He wiped away some of the excess blood from around the wound and began to inspect it even closer, carefully pulling the sides of the gash apart with his fingers so he could see more clearly inside. Blood instantly spurted back up, in time with a weak pulse. The Doctors fingers instantly flew to Lysander's neck, feeling desperately for the steady pulsing of a heart beat. It was there, but faint. Very faint. The man's breathing was becoming shallower, more labored in his unconscious state. The Doctor checked the leg again and found the source of the tremendous bleeding. He cursed colorfully in Gallifreyan.

"What? What is it?" The trainer asked desperately.

"An artery's been severed." The Doctor answered morosely. "He's already lost a lot of blood. If I don't get it stitched right now –"

Jancon came bursting back into the room, cradling in his arms the supplies the Doctor demanded. "You don't happen to have a needle and thread in there, do you?" The Doctor asked without much hope. Jancon shook his head. "Give me the antiseptic and the bandages."

Jancon passed them over and the Doctor got quickly to cleaning the area around the wound before dabbing the antiseptic into the gash. It was a difficult job with blood continuously bubbling up. Hashing it out as a good enough job, the Doctor quickly began to wrap the bandages around the leg. He could set the bone later. For now he really needed to get the blood congealing properly to stop the bleeding.

The bleeding never stopped, however. It slowly stained its way through the layers of bandages. Lysander was looking very pale now, almost ghostlike. Then suddenly his body jerked and twitched.

"What's happening?" Jancon asked.

"He's going into shock from blood loss." Explained the Doctor. He moved up towards Lysander's head and took his face in his blood-stained hands. Carefully but insistently the Doctor began to slap him on the cheek. "Lysander. Lysander, listen to my voice. You need to wake up." He waited a moment, but the man did not respond. "Lysander?" Still no response. The bandage was now completely red. The Doctor felt Lysander's neck again. The heartbeat was barely there, he could almost not feel it. He leaned down so his ear rested an inch from Lysander's lips. He could hardly hear or feel his breath. He was slipping away.

"No…" The Doctor muttered, slapping Lysander across the face one more time. "No. Come on, stay with me. Wake up. Lysander!"

But he was gone. The Doctor knew it. He could practically feel the exact moment Lysander let go, his body becoming impossibly limp once again. He stayed at his side for a moment longer, shuddering with something like a mix of anger and sorrow, before launching to his feet. He paced a few strides away from the now deathly quiet gathering, hearts hammering like drums of war in his ears. Suddenly he spun around and lashed out at the closest item he could find. His foot collided with one of the metal poles holding up the lower platforms. Pain radiated up his leg from the impact, but he could hardly feel it through his anger. Why was he acting like this? He had hardly even known the man. But he was a fellow slave, just like himself, who had no choice in the matter of his fate. And the Doctor…he should have been able to save him.  _Why can't I save_ _ **anyone**_?! He was useless, utterly useless, just like Bachir had told him. If he couldn't save anyone, then  _what was he good for_?

Through his outburst he heard the trainer turn to Jancon and ask in a quiet, mournful voice, "Master, what do we do now?"

Jancon didn't reply for a moment, just staring down in complete shock at the dead body at his feet. "Take the body outside and dispose of it properly." He answered in a detached manner that almost caused the Doctor to spin around and throttle him for not caring.

"I meant about the Trials." The trainer responded. "It's in two weeks and you don't have a competitor anymore."

The Doctor suddenly froze as he felt a pair of eyes searing into his back. Slowly, he turned around, eyes no longer darkened with anger or sorrow, but now shaded with regret and acceptance. He knew. Oh, he knew.

He raised his eyes to see Jancon staring at him as if seeing the Time Lord in a completely new light. No smile graced his lips as he replied to the trainer, "Yes I do."


	33. Chapter 33

The moment they crossed over the threshold the anklet was activated. The Doctor tried his best to keep the shout of pain bottled up and instead collapsed sideways into a table, holding onto its edges as his knees gave out. The excruciating pulse latest half a minute before is vanished just as quickly as it appeared. The Doctor still clung to the table for support, panting heavily as he tried to ride out the lingering pain.

"What…was that for?" He finally managed to snarl breathlessly. Lysander's blood still stained the sleeves of his black slave shirt and had seeped into the knees of the matching trousers. He was still shaking from the adrenaline rush of trying to save the poor man as well as the shock and anger of failing to do so. The electrocution did not help.

Jancon carefully closed the door to his study with a definite  _click._ They were back in the main estate, the Prebassador having led the Doctor out of the training room so the body could be taken care of, and retreating to the upper floors to an office overlooking the vast expanse of the Prebassador's land. It didn't seem to bother Jancon that his slave was covered in wet blood, but the Doctor could feel the eyes of the entire household staff turn and positively gape at him as he walked through the estate. He ignored them until he caught a glimpse of blonde hair barreling around the corner a few halls down. Rose froze at the sight of him, worry evident on her entire face at the amount of red on his hands, arms, chest, everywhere. It wasn't until he mouthed "It's not mine" did she nod and, with another concerned look, turn back around. It was clear from the way Jancon stormed down the rest of the corridor that her presence was not desired.

Now Jancon rested a hand against the door, eyes closed as he breathed shakily, entire body trembling just enough for the Doctor's acute senses to pick up on. It was clear the Prebassador was trying desperately to compose himself once more, but the events of the day wore heavy on his usual methodical demeanor. He pushed himself from the door and walked with wobbly legs to a stand behind his desk, pulled out a crystal decanter, and poured himself a liberal amount of the amber liquid within. One sniff told the Doctor how strong the drink was, but Jancon tossed it back anyway, downing the entire thing in one gulp. His face twisted in obvious discomfort as the substance burned all the way down his throat.

Taking a shaky breath to compose himself, Jancon finally turned back around to address the Doctor. He ran a hand through his silver hair and rubbed it down his face before speaking. "I did not appreciate the way in which you spoke to me earlier." He stated breathily as his answer.

The Doctor shook out his ankle to try and get the circulation flowing back down to his foot. "The way I what?" He asked incredulously, pushing himself experimentally away from the desk. His leg held him up, though it still tingled unpleasantly.

"I will not be commanded by my own slave." Jancon replied as he slowly fought his way back to his usual measured tone. "You will think again before speaking to your master in such an insistent tone. It is above your position and on any normal occasion you would be punished even more severely for you indiscretion, boy."

The Doctor just gawked at him. "The man was dying." He finally managed to say passed the lump of disbelief in his throat. "I was trying to save his life and you were just… standing there."

"Regardless," Jancon said stiffly. "I will not tolerate such insubordination in the future."

" _Insubordination?_ " Hissed the Doctor. He could feel his temper rising once again but didn't care to have the foresight to keep it in check. Here stood a man who had just witnessed someone die and was conversing with another man still covered in the deceased blood, and he was acting as if the Doctor had greatly offended his honor. Angrily, the Doctor swallowed back an even more calloused response and instead snapped, "Lysander,  _your_ competitor, a man you probably  _paid_ good money to enslave, just died gruesomely right in front of you, and you're complaining that I tried to take over the situation and save him?! I apologize,  _Master,_ for being more competent than you –  _HNGGG!"_

Perhaps that comment hadn't been that much less calloused. This time the Doctor couldn't hold in the growl of pain as the anklet seared against his skin again. Unable to reach the desk this time, his legs gave out from under him as the electricity coursed through his system and he collapsed onto his knees, bruising the skin. His entire body went rigid as the fire tore his nerves to shreds, destroying and shattering the pain receptors throughout his body. After what his frazzled brain was sure was hours, the unbearable hold on him broke and he collapsed forward onto his hands and knees, shaking violently. Something metallic coated his tongue and, spitting to the side, he noticed the saliva tinted orange.

"I know about your training in Eyal." Jancon was saying calmly as the Doctor continued to try to catch his breath. "Your mannerisms have fallen short of what I would have expected from their slave training program, but I had decided to overlook such inconveniences at first because I required your cooperation. Now, however, you have taken far too much advantage of my leniency. You will treat me as the master you were trained to. Now kneel."

The Doctor was already on his hands and knees. His breath was coming in short, shallow gasps still as his muscles trembled from the stress of the electricity. He had barely even heard what the Prebassador was saying, except for the one direct command at the end. He flinched almost unnoticeably as the memory of learning the meaning of that word reared its ugly head once more. It wasn't worth fighting the order though; Jancon was already mad enough as it was, there was no need angering him even more. So the Doctor pushed himself shakily off his hands so he was sitting up only on his knees, unable to even sit back on his ankles. He kept his eyes pinned to the floor a few inches in front of him, arms straight and down at his sides, just as Bachir taught him. He shivered, and for a moment wasn't sure if it was from the lingering trails of electricity in his system or the lingering memories of everything he had once endured in this position.

There's a shuffling in front of him as Jancon's shoes sweep across the carpeted room and the opening and closing of a cabinet. The Doctor thinks he could be going for another drink, but doesn't lift his eyes. Not until a pair of polished shoes appear inside his limited line of vision and Jancon orders, "Look up, Time Lord."

The Doctor obeyed the command by slowly letting his eyes roam upwards, dreading what he might see. To be honest, he expected something very unpleasant to meet his gaze; a cattle-prod or a collar or some other form of punishment and control. But instead all he saw was a large container of clear liquid, almost like water.

"I am tired of you disrespecting me." Jancon was saying. "Do you know what this is?" At first, the Doctor was inclined to shake his head. It looked like water, but from the way Jancon held the bottle carefully and the large logo for the Eyal Facility on the side he could deduce it was something else, something far more important.

And then the realization dawned on him. His head shook from side to side, but not in response to the question. Yes, he knew what it was. He'd had his suspicions while back in Eyal, but hadn't had the opportunity to prove it until now. He didn't know what was in it, or how it worked, but it did and he hated it. He hated having his thoughts and actions controlled for him, unable to make his own decisions. But the worst part was…whatever was in that solution made him feel  _useless_ against his will. Only  _he_ could impose his own self-hatred, no one else should be able to add to that already towering mountain.

Jancon must have known what he meant by shaking his head. "Your trainer delivered this to me as a gift following you purchase," He continued. "Due to the fact that your training was not yet complete, and your reliability was still in question. I did not wish to use it in hopes I could keep you in your right mind, however now I require you to stop thinking and start doing. You must complete the virus and begin training for the Trials immediately, for the games begin in two weeks."

"It's impossible." The Doctor finally spoke up in a quiet voice. "The virus requires constant supervision in this stage of development, and I would barely be able to get all the necessary restrictors ready and functioning within two weeks as it is."

The back of Jancon's hand suddenly slammed into the Doctor's cheek. He fell from position as one hand flew out instinctively to catch his fall, the other jumping up to cup the reddened skin. He blinked forcefully as the strength of the strike caused his eyes to burn, skin stinging painfully, before quickly pushing himself back into his kneeling position. As he'd learned the hard way from Bachir, only further punishment would follow from reacting to the strike.

"There is the disrespect once again." The Doctor almost didn't even register the disappointed tone in Jancon's voice this time. "When I command you to do a task, I expect you to obey silently. And if you cannot do that by your own will then I will take it from you. Hold out your hand."

The Doctor ground his teeth together. He felt like he was being spoken to as a toddler and didn't appreciate it at all. But he stuck his hand out nonetheless, palm facing the elaborately molded ceiling, and cringed at Jancon placed the container in his hand. "Drink." He was commanded. How ironic. He would have to willingly take away his own willpower.

Well it wasn't going to happen. The Doctor shook his head and lifted his brow in what he hoped wasn't a too defiant manner. "No." He stated simply.

Jancon sighed in frustration and ran a hand through his usually well-tamed hair once again. It was clear he had long ago lost his patience for his slave. "Drink it as commanded, or I will have your beautiful flower drink it for you, and I heard how adverse humans are to the effects of the solution."

The words sank in painfully. It was as if his blood had thickened drastically within the last few minutes and was now agonizingly sluggish in his veins. He hung his head as he remembered the way Rose collapsed in his arms, delirious in her drug-induced haze, how she pushed him away, terrified, convinced he had hurt her, convinced he had been the cause of all her pain. He couldn't do that to her again. He couldn't do that to  _himself_ again; he simply couldn't bear seeing her so scared again.

Lowering his hand, he shuddered as his fingers played with the cap on the container, feeling it twist off and hearing the contents slosh against the sides. Cringing as he felt the Prebassador's gray eyes bearing into the top of his head, he raised the bottle to his lips after muttering a brief, dejected, "Yes, master."

* * *

"Apologies for the wait, Captain…"

"Pesi." Ren supplied as the secretary sashayed her way around the desk to her seat. She smiled kindly as she repositioned a few papers, her orange eyes glistening as they slide up and down Ren's form unabashedly.

"What can I do for you, Captain Pesi?"

Ren took the sign to sit down, careful to keep his jacket sleeves pulled down to hide where his skin turned into glove. He had made it inside the Eyal Facility, thanks to the real Pesi's generous donation of his fingertips. Rat-Face was now laying unconscious and tied up in one of the smugglers hatches on the shuttle, safe and sound while Ren was busy conducting business and trying to clear up the mess he started.

"Nearly a month ago we had a slave transport call to our outpost where we had captured two humans, a male and a female." Ren started, trying to keep his voice even and professional, as if he were talking about the budget and financials. The secretary nodded encouragingly as she leaned forward. "I had grown – er – particularly fond of the pair," Ren added a coyly seductive smile and the secretary giggled knowingly. "And I was in the area on other business, so my curiosity got the better of me. I wonder," He leaned forward so his arms rested on the edge of the desk as well. "If they have been auctioned off yet, or if they are still on the market. If so, I would be interested in offering a rather substantial amount of money towards their sale."

The secretary sat back and drew up a holo-screen from he desk's surface. Ren could see the fuzzy logo for Eyal displayed backwards from the other side of the screen. Typing away on a keyboard that appeared on the desk, the secretary entered the Eyal database and pulled up the stock search page. "Do you know their designation?"

Ren frowned. "I don't…They were only known as Rose and John at our outpost."

The secretary typed something else he couldn't quite decipher. "Hmm…" She hummed thoughtfully. "Can I get the number of your outpost, Captain?"

"Yes, it's outpost 8, identification number 43-04-600."

She typed it in and a new screen popped up. The secretary raised her eyebrows. "Looks like you gentlemen have been having a bit of a scandal out there."

Ren felt his heart jump up his throat. Did they know about the mutiny? Had it been reported that the real Pesi was missing, that their old captain was a fraud? The woman was looking at him curiously, so he threw on his best smile anyway and shrugged it off. "Nothing that's not expected to happen out in the middle of nowhere. The sun's been getting to a few of my men's heads, but it's cooling down."

With a snicker, the secretary turned back to the holo-screen and began typing again. Ren felt the breath he'd been holding slowly release. They were both silent for a moment as the keys clacked together, her fingers flying over the keyboard. Suddenly she turned to him a frowned.

"Yes, I've found their records. Unfortunately it appears they have both already been sold."

It felt as if the universe had instantly stopped turning. The weight of his situation suddenly slammed into Ren like a speeding train, threatening to crush him. He clenched his hands into fists and hid them in his lap to conceal the tremble they had suddenly adopted. "When? How long ago? Who to?" The questions came pouring from his mouth before he could keep them in check. The secretary pounded away at the keyboard for another moment before answering.

"The file is locked. I can't access it. I'm sorry, Captain." And she really did look sorry. Ren stared at her, unblinking, for a few seconds, before sighing internally.  _Just do it, she'll forgive you._

The next second his face was alight with a charming smile, eyes expressly twinkling with what he hoped to be sorrow and desperation. Anything to spark her interest and pity. "There's nothing else you can do?" He asked in a soft, seductive voice.

The secretary bit her lip and looked around. The front office of the Eyal facility was large and welcoming, with many desks and counters that reminded Ren of banks back on Earth. However, despite the deep carpets, warm color schemes, and nice wooden desks, there were clear signs of the darker side of Eyal throughout the room; guards stood and milled around with their guns and cattle prods at hip, and there were two or three collared slaves sweeping, cleaning, or silently assisting the secretaries. Ren had watched when he first walked in as a guard slapped a young red-skinned girl harshly across the face for sweeping too close to his foot. It was barbarism hidden behind the clean face of capitalism.

"Naslund." Ren snapped back to attention as the secretary he was talking to suddenly called out. One of the guards walking by turned and, after a brief moment of searching, smiled as he came over. Ren eyed him suspiciously. He was the guard who slapped the girl earlier. And now he was grinning casually as he came to lean against their desk. "You were stationed in block eighteen these last few months, right?"

The guard, Naslund, nodded. "That's right, Vis. Extraterrestrial Intensive Training. Why?"

"Do you remember an alien with the designation MD196305? Should have come in about two months ago?"

Ren watched as Naslund frowned. The guard made his way around the desk, with no objection from Vis, and took a look at her screen. Suddenly he started laughing.

"Oh, yes! Pretty Freak! I remember that one well."

Ren ground his teeth at that. "Pretty Freak?" He tried hard to hide the disgust in his voice. What exactly was that nickname suggesting.

Naslund didn't seem to notice his aversion. "Yes, you should have seen that one, it was damn easy on the eyes. Thin, but not in a malnourished way like most of this lot, more athletic. Had this delicious, cheeky mouth and big, expressive brown eyes I could watch begging me all day long. Shame it was sold so soon, we could have had some more serious fun."

The knuckles holding onto the armrest of Ren's chair had turned white. He took a second to breathe deeply through his nose, steadying his heartbeat and keeping himself in check before responding. "Do you know who he was sold to?"

Naslund made a face as he thought. "Dunno who he was. Some rich foreigner. Spent a fortune on that pretty face, and its mate. Was all very hush-hush."

Ren turned back to the secretary. "Would it by any chance say in the file?"

"Naslund, can I get your log-in ID? You've got more clearance." The guard leaned over the computer and began typing. There was a soft  _bing_  and Naslund stepped back. Vis swooped in, squinting at the screen. There was the tapping of more keys before the secretary's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "That's impressive." She muttered.

"What's impressive?" Ren leaned forward eagerly. He needed this information. If he couldn't find the Doctor and Rose, there was no way he would ever be getting home. There would be no hope.

The Secretary frowned and bit her lip. "Unfortunately it's still classified information, I can't share it with you, Captain."

Suddenly Naslund was looking at him suspiciously. "Why you asking, anyway?"

Ren stood up and ignored him. "Thank you for your help." He flashed his most charming smile at the secretary again. "I'm still going to be doing business here tomorrow and I've heard you have rooms available here in the facility. Is there anything open for the night?"

"Oh, yes." More typing. Ren was mesmerized with how quickly her fingers flew over the keys, her orange eyes transfixed on the screen. "We do have a few rooms available, we could have one ready for you in a few minutes. Do you have any preferences?"

"Closest to the ground floor, if that's possible. And private." He added quickly.

She typed some more. "And will you be desiring any entertainment tonight?" She asked as casually as one might ask if he wanted extra bath towels, but he knew the intention behind the question.  _Would you like us to send any slave up to your room for your enjoyment?_ Ren resisted the urge to shudder.

"No, thank you. I'm very tired, I'll be turning in early."

The secretary actually looked a bit disappointed with his answer and Ren suddenly wondered if she had been offering her company's possessions or if she had been offering herself. It hardly mattered. His answer would be the same.  _She_ would never forgive him for that.

"Here you go." Said the secretary, her voice having lost a little bit of its pleasant jump. She handed him a small folder made out of heavy paper. Inside was an electronic keycard. "Take this over to hospitality and they'll activate it and direct you to your room."

"Thank you very much." Ren reached for the folder and as he grabbed it took the secretary's hand in his and gently kissed her knuckles. She giggled slightly at the motion, cheeks turning slightly orange as she blushed.

Ren didn't miss how Naslund's orange eyes followed his every movement as he turned around and went searching for hospitality. He really did hope the guard wouldn't get too nosy. He needed to get to that computer, whoever the Doctor had been sold to was sure to be listed on there. Eyal was always thorough with paperwork, something Ren had always hated before and now was very pleased about. He would have to wait until nightfall when everyone else had gone in order to sneak onto a computer. He thought briefly about how he'd left Rat-Face bound and gagged on the shuttle with nothing to eat or drink all day, but shrugged it off. If the little rodent died, he wouldn't truly care. It would just be unfortunate the Doctor wouldn't be able to take out his own revenge.

* * *

Rose sat crouched against the wall outside the kitchen door, watching the colorful alien birds swoop in and out of the distant trees. One with gorgeous purple plumage shot into the sky and opened its beak wide, emitting a tongue of vibrant red flames. Another one of the creatures dove through the fire, wings spread wide, and when it reappeared on the other side its blue feathers had changed to match the other's lavender.

Rose thought she'd never grow tired of this. New creatures, new worlds, new adventures. She'd been traveling with the Doctor long enough to no longer be surprised by all the diversity in the universe, but it still gave her a warm feeling in her chest to see something she never would have imagined happening right in front of her eyes. It was a type of feeling she hoped she'd never grow out of.

And yet she couldn't enjoy the incredible fireworks show being put on in front of her. She was too worried. Something was wrong with the Doctor. Well, something had been wrong with the Doctor for a while now, just like something was wrong with her. But the Doctor had it worse. It was as if something had been stolen from him, something essential to his very essence. She knew exactly what it was, and it pained her that there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing at the exact moment, that is. She still had her little plans and her little maps, but it hardly added up to anything. She was clever, no one would ever deny that, but she wasn't the brains of their operation. The brain was currently being blackmailed into doing something completely against its nature, and it was beyond her reach.

Her finger ran over the black marks on her left wrist. The numbers and letters were no longer painful or inflamed. Now they were part of her, implanted into her skin, marking her for what they had tried to make her into. A slave. Yes, the Doctor had it much worse. She wore the ink but he wore the manacles. She had the scars but he had the bleeding wounds.

Blood. There had been so much blood. Even against his black shirt and trousers she had been able to see it. It stained his hands and his neck and his hair where he must have accidentally rubbed it in. He had assured her it wasn't his, but it didn't stop her worrying. What had happened? Who's blood was it? Had he…had he  _killed_ someone?

Rose shuddered to think. She knew he had it in him. He was the Oncoming Storm, the destroyer of the Daleks and Time Lords, the solitary soldier against the darkness that threatened to consume the universe…but he never raised a finger to fight the darkness threatening to consume himself. She could see it – she had  _fought_ it with him, back when they had first met and he was still angsting away about the loss of his people – and she could also see how this entire situation wasn't helping them keep it at bay. There was only so much the Doctor could take before he would strike.

Rose feared they were turning him into a monster.

The birds flipped around each other, performing amazing somersaults and dives through the air, sometimes letting out little puffs of smoke like blowing kisses. She could hear them singing, their deep, melodic voices carrying on the wind. She and the Doctor used to sing at each other on the TARDIS, competing to see who could act the silliest and still get all the lyrics right. They don't sing at each other anymore. But you know what they say about the caged bird…

The door beside her opened and Rose jumped to her feet, expecting Mrs. Sihn to come out and scold her for being lazy even though she had no orders to complete. But instead she was greeted with a pair of blood-soaked black trousers. "Oh my God." She launched herself on him, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders, not caring about the wet liquid sticking to his shirt. "What happened? Are you alright? Who's blood is this?"

The questions poured out in a waterfall of worry. But what worried her most was that the Doctor didn't react. He didn't raise his arms to hug her back, pulling her close to him the way he always did in his protective manner that made her feel safe without feeling too guarded. She held on for a moment longer before retreating back a few steps, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Why had she attacked him like that? He wasn't hurt. He'd assured her before.

Or maybe he was. As she stepped away she noticed how his wide eyes were focused on the ground by her feet, how one of his arms crossed his chest to grip tightly to his other, creating a barrier over which he rounded his thin shoulders as if trying to form a large walking ball. He looked…so small and scared.

"Doctor?" Rose whispered curiously. Despite the softness in her voice, though, the Time Lord jumped, eyes darting to hers at the direct address as if he hadn't actually known she was there before. Rose stared at him, her dark eyebrows furrowed with concern. "Doctor, what's wrong?"

The Doctor's eyes darted around the empty lawn for a moment, brow angled downwards in the middle to give him the look of a lost puppy. "I – I wasn't being g-good." He responded in a whisper.

Rose was taken aback by the answer. Wasn't being good? "What do you mean? Doctor, what happened?"

The Doctor just stared at her as if seeing through her. "I wasn't good." He repeated flatly. "I – I didn't do what I was told. Master asked me to do something and I didn't do it right. I – I tried to lie to Master."

Rose just gawked at him. "Since when did you start calling him 'Master'? Doctor, what's going on?" She felt dumb asking all these questions, but she was seriously freaking out. Why was he acting like this?

"I wasn't good, so he made me be good." She really didn't like the sound of that. "I was r-right. It was in the w-water. I….I don't like it, Rose. Please, make it stop. I don't like it at all."

He was gripping her by the shoulders now, staring imploringly into her eyes. She couldn't move, too transfixed with how wide his pupils were. Too wide for being outside on such a beautiful, sunny day. "Doctor…what did he do to you?" She hopes if she said it slowly and seriously enough he would finally give her a straight answer.

But to no avail. The Doctor just looked around like a frightened bird before shaking his head. "I have to get to work. I have to get to training. I have to…"

"Training for what?" He didn't respond. "Doctor, answer me."

The direct command appeared to be exactly what she needed to do. The Doctor snapped back to attention. "For the Trial. I'm Master's competitor."

Rose felt her heart jump into her throat and feared she might choke on it. It pounded loudly and kept the words she fought to find at bay. Finally she managed to find her voice enough to squeak out, "No, he…he has a competitor already. He –" Then she noticed the blood on his shirt again and gasped. "Is he…did you…?"

Suddenly the Doctor's head was on her shoulder, his face nuzzling into the crook between her neck and collarbone. "I t-t-tried to save him" He breathed into her skin. "But I c-couldn't. I c-couldn't stop the bleeding. I c-couldn't do anything. I'm just u-useless. Worthless. I couldn't…"

His voice trailed away and suddenly Rose was angry. Is this how he felt back in the auction room, when she was spewing off some rubbish about being worthless and afraid? She hated the way those words sounded on her Time Lord's tongue, but even more so, she hated that he  _believed_ it. She could feel it in his shoulders as he spoke the words, how they quivered slightly as if the 'truth' was being forced from his very soul.

"Stop it, alright." She didn't care if her voice sounded too harsh and demanding. If a direct command was what he needed to get it through his thick head, then that was what she would have to do. "You are  _not_ worthless. You are the most incredible, most important being in the universe. I'm sure you did everything you could."

And then the Doctor was pushing himself out of Rose's embrace. He didn't look at her as he turned away, running a hand down his face in a defeated manner. "I have to go. I have to go to training. And then I have to…have to finish…" He suddenly spun around and fixed her with an intense gaze. "Don't tell him, Rose."

Rose was stunned by the sudden clarity in his eyes. "Don't tell him what?" She asked.

"Don't tell him." He replied urgently, desperation in his eyes. "He can't know, Rose. He can't know about the loophole. He mustn't ever find out. Please, Rose, don't tell him. Don't tell him about the loophole."


	34. Chapter 34

With a great  _huff,_ the Doctor landed flat on his back, the padding on the floor barely helping as it dented beneath his light weight. He coughed and screwed his eyes shut against the new throbbing in his solar plexus. The muscles there spasmed slightly as they reacted to the blow he'd just received to the gut, which sent him sprawling backwards onto the ground. Not the most painful injury to say the least, but enough to drive the oxygen from his lungs and make his vision blur.

As his eyes readjusted, the Doctor looked up to find the trainer, Ammacus, towering over him. The man was sweaty, just as he was, chest heaving from an exertion they both felt. He looked down on the fallen slave, not glaring, just with a stare, and grunted, "Focus, boy."

If there was enough air in his lungs, the Doctor would have snorted.  _Sorry, it's not like I'm being aggressively poisoned every day,_ the Doctor thought begrudgingly.  _It's just a bit distracting._

"You mustn't…give up…or ease up…on anything in the…Trial." Ammacus was saying between huffs for air. "Not a single…kick…or block…These other competitors…have had longer training…than you. They will…not be hesitant…or lax." He ran a hand over his brow, flicking away a few droplets of sweat that had been forming on his eyebrows. "You mustn't be…either."

The Doctor hid a smirk. He was glad he still had enough in him to get the trainer so exhausted to the point of not even being able to get a full sentence out. But his joy was short lived. He was exactly in the same state, if not worse, lying on the ground with absolutely no desire to move or speak, bare chest surging with each pant and puff. He could still feel where Ammacus' ankle had slammed into his lower abdomen just moments before, and he had the faint idea he would be feeling it for a few hours more.

It took almost every last ounce of will power (something Master seemed determined to override) for the Doctor to grit his teeth and force his limbs to move. Ammacus was going down for the 'kill move' – a blow stopping just above the neck, and then the Doctor would have to ask for mercy and be sent off to do some heinous exercise as punishment for losing. He really didn't need more punishment. But the bottom of Ammacus' foot found thin air instead of a throat as the Doctor rolled to his side, grunting from the effort as he lashed out with his own ankle, slamming it into the hinge of the trainer's knee. There was a groan as Ammacus' leg gave out from the well-aimed kick, and by the time he was on his knees the Doctor had managed to push himself onto his feet. Ammacus didn't even know what happened, but suddenly there were arms beneath his own, yanking them up behind his head until they hung uselessly in the air, a pair of hands clasped together at the nap of his neck to keep them aloft.

After a dazed moment in which the both of them just stood there, panting, Ammacus began to laugh. "Oh, well done." He managed between the wheezing. "Well done."

The Doctor felt his own voice hitching with a laugh as well, but he was breathing too hard to make any lasting sound. His hands clasped behind the trainer's head carefully came undone so he could place them on either side of Ammacus' head, one by his left ear, the other along his right jaw. One jerk and the man's neck would snap. " _Dead_." The Doctor exhaled with a sense of finality.

Ammacus gave one more impressed laugh before grunting. "Yes. Alright. Get off me." The Doctor instantly did as he was told, backing away and giving the trainer back the use of his arms. His own fell to his sides, hands flat, fight gone from his limbs as they continued to shake from the surge of adrenaline slowly fizzing out into fatigue. Ammacus stood carefully and turned to see the slave with his eyes set on the ground, ready for his next instruction even as his chest continued to heave and mouth sat agape as it tried to funnel in enough oxygen. "He's sure got you on a strict regiment." Ammacus snorted. "At ease. And take a break. You deserve it."

The Doctor instantly relaxed his shoulders, letting his whole frame practically cave in on itself. It was exhausting, being a respectful slave, but he was hardly given a choice in the matter. "Thank you." He nodded to the trainer.

Ammacus just grunted and jerked his head towards a benched area in the corner. "Get some water and sit down. You look like you're going to fall over."

 _Likewise,_  the Doctor wanted to retort, but held it in. They both made their way slowly over to the benches and the large pitcher of cool water sitting nearby. It was a relief. The water was pure, untainted, no chemicals or drugs that dulled the countermanding circuits to the munus exsecutiva frontal lobe and kept the Doctor's will locked away. Nothing but water in the most perfect sense.

The Doctor made his way over there, limping slightly where Ammacus had given him a Charlie Horse to the calf earlier. He began to pour the beautiful liquid into a cup as he threw an inconspicuous glance over his shoulder. The trainer was on the other side of the room, unwrapping the boxing tape from around his knuckles – the Doctor was not given the privilege of protecting his hands for, as Ammacus explained in great detail, he would not have any form of defense while in the Trial either.  _Train how you will perform,_ he was always saying.

Taking the opportunity while Ammacus had his back to him, the Doctor put the cup down and inhaled sharply through his nose. His face screwed up in concentration as he forced his lungs to open the second chamber of his main respiratory system. There, he had been working all morning to isolate the molecules of the drug, absorbing it from his bloodstream and relocating it to the sectioned walls of his lungs. It hurt, making breathing difficult at best, resulting in how out of breath he was during hand-to-hand combat training, but it was worth it. Gathering every last molecule in his airway, the Doctor let out his bated breath, exhaling a plume of gray. It twirled through the air like smoke, its fingers reaching out and disappearing from sight.

The Doctor couldn't help the smile that pulled on his lips.  _Rassilon, that felt good!_ There was nothing like the taste of free will. Not even water could compare.

But it came damn close, especially after the workout the Doctor had just had. He finished pouring the water into his cup and turned around in time to see Ammacus striding back towards him.  _Good timing._ Carefully cradling his water, still acting docile enough to appear the same as before, the Doctor sat himself down on one of the padded benches. A sigh escaped him as his aching muscles began to relax.

They had been at this for a week now, training and fighting and sciencing. That's not a word, is it? Sciencing? The Doctor rolled the word around in his head before deciding it really should be and adding it to his mental dictionary. He rotated his left shoulder, hearing the joint click and stretch. He really was out of shape. Two and a half months of captivity and partial starvation really didn't do much for your health. In any other situation the Doctor should have been able to pin Ammacus down in less than a minute. He had the lightening fast reflexes – thank you, Time Lords – and previous training for it, it really should have been a piece of cake.

Had it not been for the drug. The Doctor still couldn't figure out exactly what it was (he had a few other things on his mind at the moment) be he was no where closer to liking it here than he did back in Eyal. At least Master wasn't treating him like a dog the way Bachir did, but it wasn't all that much better. It made him slow, fearful even, mind muddled with a constant paranoia of displeasing his master to the point where it took him three whole days to convince himself it was okay to use his secondary respiratory ejection system. And if that made it hard to fight, it certainly made it hard to science.

 _That word really_ should _be a verb._

Ammacus poured himself the remainder of the water and collapsed onto the bench across from the Doctor. "Anything hurting?" He asked. The Doctor held in another snort.  _Everything, thank you._  But he didn't say it. And apparently he didn't need to. Ammacus pointed at the Doctor's left leg. "Give it here" He instructed.

The Doctor lifted his leg – somehow both numb and throbbing in pain at the same time – and rested it on the trainer's knee. Ammacus began massaging the muscles on his calf back to life. And,  _Rassilon,_ it hurt more than expected. The Doctor stifled a hiss as the trainer continued to massage the deep tissue with the heel of his palm.

"So, where did you serve?" He suddenly asked out of the blue.

The Doctor's eyes burst open at the unexpected question. "Sorry?" He gasped out in surprise.

"Well, you obviously have military training." Ammacus replied as he drove his fingers deeper into the now pliable muscle as if it were clay he was sculpting instead of flesh and tissue. "Your techniques are all standard in most galactic militaries, although you're much better than any mercenary I've come across before, and you have the stance for it." He paused for a second, continuing to massage. "Not the mention your eyes."

At a loss of what else to say, the Doctor settled with, "What about my eyes?"

"Other leg." The Doctor retracted his left leg and brought up his right instead. The massaging continued. "Well, for starters, they're about a thousand years older than you are. And you can't hide that haunted look within them either. I've seen it all too often before."

The Doctor didn't respond at first. He didn't retort that his eyes were the same age as he was, mostly because he didn't believe that lie anymore either. They had seen things and were going to see things no pair of eyes should ever expect to see in their lives. And from the looks of it, so had Ammacus'.

Maybe it was because of that fact that the Doctor suddenly found like lips moving.

"The Time War." The words fell like a death bell from his tongue. Ammacus stopped massaging his right calf for a second before quickly covering up his hesitation by tapping the Doctor on the shin. The Time Lord took the hint to put his leg down and obeyed. "It was the Last Great Time War." The Doctor found himself saying again in a dead voice. "I served on the front line."

"The Time War." Ammacus repeated with a thoughtful look. "I read about that in a book once. Never thought it actually happened."

"Oh, it happened, alright." The Doctor sighed as he took another sip. The smooth water felt like jagged chips of ice scratching down his raw throat.

Ammacus didn't say anything else, didn't press on. And for that the Doctor was grateful. He didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to relive it. But too late. As he sat there, images of towns, cities,  _planets_ **burning** plagued his mind, memories long suppressed suddenly rising to the surface again. But he was too exhausted to react to them at all. All he felt was a bottomless, endless sadness pressing against his insides, screaming to get out.

Then finally a voice mercifully cut through his memories. "I served in the army myself." Ammacus was saying. "For the Draxets during the Coll System's War. That's how I wound up here."

The Doctor arched an eyebrow. "Prisoner of war?"

"Yeah…could have had it much worse off, though." Ammacus shrugged. "I was just a foot soldier, nothing important enough to keep around for interrogations, or as a hostage, so they sold me and the rest of my platoon to the slavers. My first master was this fucking pretentious Drephesh, bought me off Eyal nearly two decades ago now. Used to loan me out to all his rich friends to train their competitors of the Trials." Suddenly he stopped talking, a haunted look washing over his face. The Doctor knew that look. It was the same one he had just been wearing moments before. Eyes glazed over, brow furrowed, lips parted in a silent cry for forgiveness, for oblivion. Ammacus dragged in a shuddering, wrecked breath. "I've sent so many innocent boys to their deaths."

The Doctor leaned forward. "This wasn't your fault." He said in a quiet, reassuring voice. "Their deaths, Lysander's death, or any of it. You didn't have a choice."

"Yeah, well none of us do, do we?" He replied matter-of-factly. "But it doesn't make what we have to do feel any less wrong or guilty, does it?" He stood up abruptly, ending the conversation and whatever connection the two might have been making, and threw back the rest of his water. "Alright, back on your feet. I want a cool-down perimeter run and then ten sets of each core exercise before you hit the showers and go back to the lab, understood?"

With a heavy sigh the Doctor forced himself back onto his feet, finishing off his own water before placing the cup back down by the pitcher. "Yes, sir." He muttered, taking off to do as told despite is aching, angry, rebelling bones.

* * *

Rose was in the kitchen when Jancon found her. Mrs. Sinh had asked for her assistance in cleaning the extra dishes, pots, and pans used for the ambassadorial dinner the Ligtech's hosted the night before, and, as Ilaria has consistently reminded her through her various off-handed comments, Rose was in no position to refuse. Although she had a sneaking suspicion that all these new chores they had her doing were really just an excuse to keep her from going to see the Doctor every chance she could.

Like that was ever going to stop her.

Dishes had always been the bane of Rose's childhood. She'd nearly danced for joy when her mum finally got a dishwasher installed. But now she was back to hand washing. It was all very confusing; here they had spaceships and computer systems and fully functioning laboratories, but no dishwasher. Rose shrugged.  _I guess that's what slaves are for,_ she thought bitterly.

"A moment, Miss Thorn, if I may?" Came the typically too polite voice of their jailer from behind her. Rose didn't have to fake the little jump of surprise; she hadn't heard him approaching at all.

Rose didn't say anything, just put the pot she'd been scrubbing clean down on the counter and waited. As expected, it didn't take long for Jancon to start speaking again. "I have come to enquire as to how your mate is doing. I have not been able to ask him myself, and Abyss knows he is not about to share how he truly is with me."

Rose turned around and tried to look as innocent and cooperative as possible. "Sorry, I dunno. You haven't been letting me see him."

Jancon sighed. "Rose, I respect your spirit, it has always been a matter of great admiration from my part, but the persistent prickle of your thorns on my side is growing tiresome. I know you often sneak away from your chores to visit him, and twice this week could not be found in your chambers at night. I have allowed it because he needs you – that much is quite clear – but if you continue to insult me and my intelligence I will be forced to devise some form of punishment for you. Namely, an end to visitation rights…" He let the sentence hang in the air.

Rose held a small glare for a moment longer before replying. "He's functioning, if that's good enough for ya." She chewed on her lower lip. "But that's not good enough for me."

Jancon quirked an eyebrow. "What do you mean by 'he is functioning'?"

"I mean there's petrol in the tank but the engine won't turn on." Rose snapped back with a saying she'd heard Mickey say a few times after long shifts in the garage, complaining about his coworkers. Jancon didn't seem to understand what that meant anymore than she had at first. Rose just massaged her temple with a soft groan. "He said something the other night about the drug acting as a dampener to the  _something-us something-else-us_ centers of the brain. Like the decision making parts of his mind. He's doing what you tell 'im to do cuz the drug stops him from thinking about what to do himself. But seeing as you  _bought_ him to do something  _you_  don't understand, how the hell do you expect him to do it when he can't use his own brain?"

Jancon nodded minutely, arms crossed over his chest. A stray piece of silver hair hung over his eyes. Again Rose was struck by how attractive the man actually was. But only in look – with his weird grey skin and silver hair and matching eyes – everything else about the Prebassador was absolutely barking mad. "So you are suggesting I should cease the administration of the drug?"

Rose threw her hands up. "Yes! Yes, of course that's what I'm suggesting! You shouldn't have put him on it to begin with! He was already doing everything you asked, and you could have just kept using me!"

The Prebassador tilted his head to the side and squinted at her. "You are not reliable incentive. Desires change. Greed takes control. Selfishness and survival become premier to that of others."

At this, Rose just snorted and turned back to the dishes, ending the conversation in what she knew was possibly the rudest way and loving it. "Yeah, well, just cuz you're a heartless bastard…" She muttered to the suds in the sink.

There was a soft sigh behind her. "I do not wish to see you harmed, my Rose, and that is why I must inform you that your mate  _will_ leave you." His voice was soft and accented with something that almost sounded like sympathy. "And if John does not die in the Trails then there will come a day when he will abandon you. It is in the nature of the guilty and the damned."

* * *

When she first entered the laboratory that night, she found the Doctor sprawled out on his stomach on one of the lab tables, one palm cradling his jaw while the other poured a strange purple substance into a measuring cylinder. A thick wall of fetid smoke permeated the air and sent her into a coughing fit within seconds of entering the room. The fit didn't stop her, however, from seeing the way the Doctor jumped at the loud, unexpected sound.

"It's okay. It's just me." Rose called through the curtain of smoke, trying to squint enough to see his face. Maybe he was grinning now. It kind of looked like that. "What happened in here?"

The Doctor glanced around the room with a frown. "Oh, right, the smoke." The Time Lord replied as if this was the first time he'd noticed it. "Well, the solution wasn't quite as stable as I expected it to be. There were some…unforeseen results."

"Yeah, no kidding." With a wave of her hand, Roe tried to clear the air, but the smoke seemed to be completely infused by now. All she could do was cover her mouth and nose with the back of her hand. "And you're lying on the table because…"

"Too sore to keep standing." The Doctor groaned as he reached for another heat calibrator a few feet away across the desk. He attached it to the maze of tubes and funnels before readjusting the height of the conical flask now holding the purple stuff. More fumes wafted up from the mixture as it was heated again, but was caught, instead, in the canula and quick-cooled with another mixture back into a liquid, now bizarrely indigo colored. Rose shook her head. It looked like a scene out of a stereotypically constructed 1950s sci-fi film.

"Did you just say you're too sore to stand?"

The Doctor shrugged with one shoulder. "And sit. And move. And breathe. Even to lie down, but it's definitely the lesser of the evils."

Rose just shook her head. "'Ow does he expect you to do this…Trials thing if you can't even stand up?"

"No idea." The reply was short and flippant, as if the Doctor didn't really care enough to think about it. He would do it and that was that. Rose knew that for the last couple of days the Doctor had been able to excrete the majority of whatever that drug was out of his system, but sometime she just wasn't sure if he got it all. He was still wildly too obedient. Where was her fervent fighter? He was locked in there somewhere with her cheeky best friend, not gone, just…napping.

Maybe it had something to do with his memories. Maybe it had something to do with her memories. Maybe something had hap-

_Fingernails raked over her skin, leaving long red welts running down her bare arms and chest. Heavy breathing, panting, roaring in her ear, breath hot and stale, smelling of rotting calcium. Fingers on her shoulders, on her waist, on her hips. Pounding. Something was pounding. Tearing. Grunting. Salt water running down her cheeks, over her lips. A shouting. Pained. Desperate. Broken.,_

" _ROSE!"_

Rose shook her head and frowned. Where had  _that_ thought come from? Finding herself back in the laboratory, Rose felt herself shiver for no apparent reason. It wasn't cold in the room in the slightest – on the contrary, it was actually a bit uncomfortably warm. It was probably from a mixture of worry for the Doctor and anticipation of what was to come, that had to be it. What else could it be?

"Well, you won't have to worry about that." He announced confidently as she swept further into the room and threw a pile of papers down on the lab table next to the Doctor's shoulder. Finally the Time Lord looked up from his chemistry set and glanced over at the papers with his round, expressive eyes. Eyebrows creased in confusion.

"What's this?"

Rose tossed the paper on top right in front of the Doctor's face and wasn't quite able to keep the proud look off her face. "Our way out."

The Doctor picked up the paper and ran a curious eye over it, taking in every detail before turning back to his companion with even more questions rising up in those chocolate orbs. "I don't understand." He finally admitted. Rose rolled her eyes.

"I've been scanning out the estate – every hallway, every garden, every secret passage – and I'm pretty sure I've found the perfect way to sneak out of here unseen. See this corridor?" She jabbed one of the penciled-in hallways on the map with her finger. "It's hidden behind a portrait of this guy I think might be Jancon's dad. But anyway, the portrait is right next to my room in the estate and goes straight to the kitchens. And while I was in there doing dishes earlier I noticed a small door inlaid in one of the wine cellars. I asked another servant about it and she said it was a crawl-tunnel leading to the servant's quarters for during the years of winter when snow would block all the entrances to the main estate building. I've convinced Chirla – that's the servant girl – to keep my door unlocked tonight, telling her some wild story about our undying love for each other that made her gush and blush and giggle like a school girl and said how much I missed lying in your arms or something ridiculous like that."

 _Not really that ridiculous, though,_ she tried to keep that thought at bay. "Once I get to the servant's quarters, Sinh keeps the keys to the slave rooms in a box by the front door. I can just slip in, grab you, and we can sneak out through the servant's yard to that exercise trail just out back that I saw you on the other day with the trainer. I overheard Iliaria saying she should start running into town every morning instead of flying – she's thin as a stick and thinks she's the size of a whale. I guess women are the same all over the universe – but that means town is within running or walking distance. Once we get there we can figure out how to find our way back to the TARDIS and get the hell away from here!"

She smiled excitedly at the Doctor, expecting him to respond just as eagerly, but instead the Time Lord just averted his eyes with a deep, sorrowful sigh.

"It's not going to work, Rose." His voice was calm but dark, heavy with defeat. Rose's smile instantly vanished, but she fought to keep it up anyway.

"Well, yeah, there might have been some facts I overlooked, but since when have you been against improvisation? I was pretty sure it was your favorite kind of –ation."

The Doctor just hung his head even further. His hand, which had been fiddling with a dial on the heat calibrator, moved to ruffle through his hair before collapsing heavily back to the table. The strained, expectant silence stretched on for a moment longer before the Doctor suddenly opened his mouth and said the last thing this faithful companion expected.

"Rose, we're slaves."

The hush that followed those three words were so loaded a gun would be jealous. Rose just stared at him, any hint of her excited smile gone so quickly she looked like a completely different person than the one who was speaking earlier.

Finally, "Don't – Don't say that, Doctor." Her voice came out sounding smaller than she meant it to. "We're not –"

"But we are, aren't we? Just slaves. Or at least I am. Just a useless, mindless slave."

Rose was thrown back by how much bitter acceptance was in his voice. He still wouldn't look up at her, eyes transfixed in a heated glare with the black table top.

"Stop it!" She finally snapped. "Just stop!"

"You stop!" Rose reeled backwards, stunned and scared. She had never heard the Doctor erupt like that, not to her at any rate. Never to her. He turned to her with his fiery black eyes, drilling her to the spot, snarl forming on his lips. "You humans, with all your hope and optimism and trust. I'm EXHAUSTED trying to keep up with you! There is no hope! You cannot trust anyone! As soon as you do, you sign away your life! You should NEVER have trusted me, Rose Tyler, I RUINED your life. I made you a  _slave_."

_CRACK!_

The Doctor had to grab the side of the table to keep from falling off the other side. His other hand flew instantly to his stinging cheek, red from Rose's sudden slap.

"Finished, are ya?" Rose roared with her hands on her hips. With a hiss of pain, the Doctor finally looked back up at her. The black had faded from his eyes, leaving them brown and surprised yet again. "Good, because we have more important things to worry about right now than your own emotional breakdown." She paused, waiting to see if the Doctor was going to respond. But the Time Lord remained silent, eyes once again on the black table as his shoulders slumped. Rose hoped he was feeling ashamed of himself for breaking down and losing hope on her like that. She held  _no_ sympathy for him after that eruption.

It finally looked like he was about to say something, mouth opening and some strangled sound managing to make its way out, when a shrill whistle suddenly cut through the tense quiet of the room. They both spun around to the chemistry set, frowning. The indigo mixture was now a sickly looking green, bubbling slowly, the whistling coming from the release of even more fumes through the narrow opening in the flask. Rose heard the Doctor swallow heavily. His face was creased with something between worry, shame, and detachment. For some reason it scared her more than his shouting.

"What is it?" She finally asked, whispering for no apparent reason. They were alone in the room.

The Doctor's brow furrowed even more before he replied with a simple. "It's done."


	35. Chapter 35

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

Silence followed in the wake of the soft pounding and she immediately felt silly. Of course, there was a very good chance he was already asleep, as he had said he would be turning in early and it was already pretty late into the night. And even if he wasn't, why would he open the door for her and be interested in what she had to say? She was only the help, after all.

And yet, to her surprise, moments later she could hear footsteps padding up to the door. The wood creaked as if someone were leaning against it before it finally opened a few inches, enough to reveal one mesmerizing eye.

A smile stitched itself onto her face, although it didn't take much persuasion, the single eye having pulled it out already. "Good evening, Captain." She greeted in her silkiest voice.

The door opened further to reveal a surprised Ren, though he was very quick to keep the shock from showing too much in his face. "Hello." He cleared his throat quietly. "Vis, was it?"

"Vistorya." She amended as her smile brightened even more.

A flash of something like horror crossed his face, but he managed to hide it just as quick as his initial shock. "Well – Vistorya…to what do I owe the pleasure? Is there something wrong?"

"No, not at all." Vis was quick to clarify. "I'm sorry for coming by so late, Captain, but I just want to make sure you have everything you need for the night and that you're satisfied with the facility's service."

The human had to force the lie passed the barred teeth he was trying to hide. "Yes, I'm very satisfied with the facility's service, thank you."

Vis tilted her head to the side in what she knew would be a slightly seductive look of concern. "May I come in?"

It took Ren's mind about half a second to have one of the longest, most grueling internal arguments it had ever experienced, not a hint of it showing in his face. But in the end he managed a smile and stepped aside, allowing Vis access to his room. She flashed him a dazzling smile as she slinked passed, accidentally –  _maybe not so accidentally_ – brushing her shoulder against his chest. Ren felt his heart constrict and blood begin to race, but not because of the usual reasons. He fought against the panic. He as just inviting her inside. She knew where the Doctor was. She knew who had purchased him and Rose and where they were being kept. She was, at the moment, his key to getting home. He needed her. And he was just inviting her into the room. That didn't mean anything was going to happen between them tonight.

_Right?_

Ren closed the door behind her as she made her way over to the small table and chairs situated off to the side. Ren stood there a bit awkwardly, unsure how to proceed. "Uh…I'm sorry, I didn't really bring much with me, or I'd offer you a drink."

Vis waved his comment off. "Don't be ridiculous, we should be offering you drinks, anyway. May I?" She gestured towards one of the chairs. Ren nodded positively, although he felt anything but.

"Is it really customary to treat employees so well here?" He asked as he sat down across from her, back almost ram-rod straight as his anxiety kept him from relaxing. "It's not like I'm buying any of your … stock." He forced the word out, which was only slightly better than the only other word there was for it.  _Slaves._ You would think after ten years of surviving on this planet, he would be used to the idea of slavery. But something about having grown up in the red, white, and blue land of the free produced a complete mental block towards the whole concept.

"We take care of everyone who comes through our doors." Vis said as she leaned forward. "Whether they are customers, employees, or, as you say, stock. We are the greatest company on the planet, our service must be up to par with that reputation as well. Also, we take care of our own here, especially those who work so hard out in the middle of the desert to keep our interested safe." Her voice might as well have been winking at him from the way the words slid off her tongue. Despite her explanation, Ren had the sneaking suspicion that it wasn't usually company policy to send representatives to their employee's doors at night to make sure they were enjoying their stay.

"Which reminds me," Vis continued. "The company log from today showed that you declined joining in on any of the entertainment features we have offered." Ren resisted the urge to flinch.  _Entertainment features._ Okay, yes, there  _was_ a word worse than  _stock_  for what these people made their money on. He knew exactly what she meant by  _entertainment features._ Slaves forced to allow themselves to be used by anyone who couldn't keep their pricks to themselves for more than two minutes at a time.

"No," Ren said smoothly. "I didn't. The type of…entertainment offered in those rooms aren't exactly to my taste."

"Yes, I can tell you are a man of more  _personal_ interests." Vistorya intoned as she leaned forward, placing a hand on the top of Ren's knee as her orange eyes bore sparklingly into his. Ren stared down at the hand. The nails were painted a professional shade of pink, but were chipped along the tips from where her fingernails clacked against the keys of her computer all day. Her knuckles bend as she slowly caressed his knee.

Immediate instinct wanted Ren to brush the hand away, but he let it stay. He didn't say anything about it, didn't take it in his own. He more or less ignored it entirely as he threw caution to the wind and moved closer to the table – though not quite close enough to be within reach of Vis's soft red lips.

"Can I confess something to you, Vistorya?" He asked as suggestively as he could manage. He could see the slight tremor of excitement run through the Drepheshie girl as she nodded encouragingly. Ren faked a sigh of resignation, an 'oh, all right, you caught me' smile flickering on his face. "I didn't travel all the way to the city for a meeting and then just happen to decide to come here for the night. I came explicitly to look for those two slaves I mentioned earlier."

Vis's hand slipped off his knee and came to act as a rest for her chin. "Oh?" She questioned with a dip of her eyebrows. Ren guessed that was his cue to go on.

"You see, the report said they were claimed wild in the middle of the desert, but the truth is, that was a cover up I invented and had my men follow along with. The real story is that they are my own personal slaves."

Vis looked like she was about to say something, but Ren quickly held up his hands, silencing her before she could start. "Yes, I know it's illegal for an Eyal employee stationed outside the city and HQ areas to own slaves, but they were gifted to me before joining many years back. My family has a long lineage of owning slaves, and my uncle didn't know about my ambitions to join Eyal when the two were signed over to me.

"But the thing is, I have owned them both for a very long time. And I know it's frowned upon to form such deep connections with your property, but I simply couldn't help it, I've grown very attached to both of them. The male practically raised me and the female…well, the female has been a close companion for many years. I never meant for them to be discovered, and I was planning on simply coming here to purchase them back under a different alias, but I did not expect them to go onto the market so soon. Especially since the male can be quite unruly with anyone else trying to control it. So please," He reached across the table and took her free hand into both of his. Vis gave him a startled look. "I know you know who has purchased them. I simply wish to propose a counter offer to them. I  _need_ those two back." And his eyes began to water as he thought about what would happen if she said 'no'.  _Good, extra theatrics._ He let a single tear slide out.

That seemed to do the trick. Vis stood from her chair with a sympathetic "oh" and came to kneel in front of him, taking his face into her hands. She gently kissed his cheek, the one with the alligator tear tracking down its side. "I can't even imagine," She whispered into his ear. "what it must be like to love one of those things so dearly," She kissed along his cheekbone tenderly. "that you would risk so much to get them back." She kissed his other cheek. "It's so refreshing," Vis now whispered in his other ear. "to see a man who truly cares about fighting for what he loves."

And then she was kissing him full on the mouth, her soft lips pushing against his as her hand on the back of his neck held him in place. Ren's eyes burst open with surprise.  _No, no, no!_ This was not what he wanted! But she was _so_ close to helping him. Ren had her in the palm of his hand. He didn't want to screw it up now, especially not after that false confession of his. If she became bitter it would be only too easy for her to report him to the authorities, and not only would that take him straight to jail, but it would only be a matter of time before they realize he is actually human. And that discovery would most definitely land him right back inside this very building, but instead of being treated to a fancy room he would be huddled over and shivering in a cage, searching for scraps for food and calling any lowlife Drephesh ' _master_ '.

He couldn't risk that. And so, with a heavy heart, Ren's lips parted, tongue wandering forward to explore the woman's mouth as her own lips parted way. One of his hands found its way up her arm, across her shoulder, to rest at the nape of her neck, fingers entwining into her hair as he imagined the strands he caressed were blonde, that the lips ravishing his own belonged to someone else, someone familiar and beautiful and so perfectly  _human._

They broke apart after a moment as they both realized they needed to come up for air at some point. "So you'll help me?" Ren gasped as his thump continued to stroke the skin beneath her left ear.

Vis leaned forward and claimed his mouth again, maneuvering herself into his lap, straddling his hips daringly. Her lips moved from his mouth to his cheek and up his jaw line, stopping as she pulled his earlobe into her mouth, sucking and nipping on it.

"Tomorrow." She whispered back.


	36. Chapter 36

"It's done?" The question came out as a startled whisper. It's funny how two syllables could both diffuse the tension in one topic and heighten the tension to astronomical levels in another. The Doctor stared morosely at the still whistling, green concoction as if he took pity on it, but Rose recognized immediately that the emotion was not actually directed towards the chemical. No, it was almost certainly directed inwards. And it wasn't pity she saw in those eyes once that realization crossed her mind. It was remorse, in its most basic, primitive, unadulterated form. It was the look of a man staring over the barrel of a smoking gun and knowing his finger was the only one on the trigger.

Not taking his eyes off the solution, the Doctor replied with a solemn, "Yeah."

A grimace crossed the Doctor's face as he took a step closer to the chemistry set. He used the edge of the table to balance himself as he wobbled slightly, tipping dangerously to the side as he walked. In a matter of seconds Rose was on the other side of the table, ready to help. But one look down told her the Doctor had grossly under exaggerated when he said he was 'just sore'. Rose gasped, "Your leg!"

Even through the dark material of his trousers, Rose could see his left knee swollen to twice its usual size, straining against the fabric. The Doctor was barely putting any weight on it at all.

"Felling guilty about slapping me now?" The Doctor questioned through clenched teeth. Rose rolled her eyes.

"Not when you lie about how hurt you are to begin with. What happened?"

The Doctor gave a dismissive shrug. "Oh, it's nothing. Just a training accident, no big deal."

"Yeah, because the last man to have a training accident here ended up being just fine." Sarcasm dripped from each word as she wound an arm around the Time Lord's waist. The Doctor scoffed.

"I'm hardly going to keel over from a bit of swelling. I'm a Time Lord, not some fragile Laksen. It'll go away in a few hours, it's just…tender for now. Over there, please." He instructed as he ground his teeth together from the effort of trying to take a step forward.

Rose helped him hobble around the edge of the table to where he indicated. Snatching up a pair of heat tongs, the Doctor carefully removed the hot flask from its holder. The whistling instantly died down, like taking a kettle off the stove, but the mixture kept its sickly green hue. "Now, let's see if all this trouble was worth it." The Doctor muttered, more to himself than his companion.

Rose frowned. "Hang on, you told me just yesterday that you were still working on the formula."

At that, the Doctor cringed. "Yeah, well, that may have been another lie."

"Two strikes already, Doctor, you're not doing yourself any favors today." She tried to sound playful, but the words came out more callous and reprimanding than she intended.

As if in reaction to her tone, the Doctor shivered, eyes instantly darting to the ground. "I'm sorry." He murmured almost silently to the tiles. Then he looked back up, eyes hesitantly seeking hers out. "Rose, can you do me a favor?"

Rose nodded, not trusting her voice. What was with that sudden apology? She had just been poking fun, but had he taken it seriously? Did he think she was threatening him?

The Doctor sighed before stating, "Slap me again."

Rose just blinked. "What?"

"Slap me. Across the face. Just like before."

"No!"

"Please – "

"That first time was for your own good, I'm not doing it again."

"Listen – " His voice was tinted slightly with the sound of desperation, but she just ignored it.

"You may be going on a self-destructive rampage, Doctor, but that doesn't mean I'm going to help!"

" _Rose,_ just listen to – Oh, never mind."

So instead, seemingly from out of nowhere, the Doctor's own hand came flying up and  _smacked_ across his own face. The sound was startlingly loud from standing so close and Rose stumbled backwards in surprise.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" She practically shouted. "Are you out of your mind? Do you actually  _like_ getting hurt?"

But the Doctor wasn't listening. The force of the slap – admittedly stronger than he had intended – send his head snapping to the side, the skin on his cheek red and stinging. He shook his head to get ride of the tingling, gasping dramatically. "That's better." He breathed as he crinked his neck to the side.

"Well, I'm glad you're enjoying your own torture." Rose huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

The Doctor shook his head one more time before peering over at his companion. "Oh, come off it." Was his gruff reply. "It was a  _slap_. Hardly qualifying enough for  _torture._  Besides, it was necessary."

"Oh,  _was it_?"

"Yes, it was." The Doctor returned her sass with a wag of his eyebrows. "There was a subconscious buildup of the psychocentric side effects of the induced cerebral paralysis that needed to get broken up in order to satisfactorily cleanse the hippocampic walls." He paused for a moment to take a breath before raising his eyebrows. "Happy you asked?"

"I didn't ask. Now in English this time?"

The Doctor couldn't quite figure out why she was so angry with him, so he just gave a surrendering sigh and explained. "I got the physical elements of the drug out of my system earlier, but the side effects have to wear off on their own. Sometimes the particles get stuck or stubborn and they physically need to be dislodged to get them cleared. Your slap started it and made me aware of the extra buildup. That's why I needed the second slap. But I'm good now. At least," He sniffed thoughtfully before flicking his right temple. "I should be."

"Okay. Just – stop." Rose said, a bit more calmly, as she stepped forward and took hold of the Doctor's hands to keep him from causing further injury to himself. Her hold was gentle and incredibly grounding. Suddenly, the Doctor saw that she wasn't angry with him. She was worried.

Without thinking about it, the Doctor raised her hands and placed his lips gently, lovingly, to each knuckle in an apologetic kiss. It was a bit more lovey-dovey, mushy-gushy that his usual style, but for some reason it seemed to fit perfectly in the moment. "I'm sorry I scared you." He whispered honestly.

He could feel the tension release from Rose's body. She leaned forward into him, resting her head on his chest, his double heartbeat pounding comfortingly against her ear. "I don't like you on these drugs." She whispered back.

"I don't like being on them either."

"No, I don't like  _you_ on them. I don't like how you act – all submissive and…and… _slave_ like. Yesterday I counted five times you called Jancon 'Master' and no one was even around. And I know it's not your fault!" She added quickly, pulling away enough so he could see the sincerity in her eyes. "I just don't like you thinking you're worthless, cause you're not. Not to me, at least."

The Doctor held her closer to him, planting another kiss on top of her blonde head. "I know. I'm sorry."

They stood like that for a moment longer before the Doctor regretfully pulled away. "I should check on the formula."

"Right. Yes."

The flask had cooled down enough to touch by now, but the Doctor still used the protective tongs to lift it up and carry it to a set of microscopes along another lab table. Using an eyedropper he placed a drop of the green stuff on a slide and slipped it beneath the lens, leaning in to observe. Rose wrapped her arms tighter around her own chest after jumping onto one of the bare tabletops across from the silent Time Lord. He still placed his entire body weight on his right leg, leaning into the table on his elbow as he peered through the glass. But at least now he looked a bit more relaxed. Somehow, even as he had been lying across the table earlier, his body had been noticeably tense, the muscles in his back and shoulders coiled as if ready to pounce or run.

It was a comfortable silence they shared as the Doctor continued to study his concoction. Rose picked up a steady drumming beat with her heels against the side of the table, quiet enough so as not to disturb the busy Time Lord. A few minutes passed before the Doctor moved again, silently hopping on his one good leg over to a device that looked remarkably like a Bunsen Burner from Earth. As Rose watched, intrigued and curious, the Doctor raised the microscope pad and lens up about half a foot and slide the burner underneath, fire heating the metal plate beneath the slide. Rose was  _sure_ that wasn't good for the microscope, which looked expensive, but the Doctor didn't even bat an eyelash to the fact that he might be destroying one of his 'Master's' possessions.

The Doctor turned off the flame and stared so hard though the lens, Rose was sure he was about to burn a hole through  _that_ side as well. More silence, and then…

"Oh…" The Doctor said quietly, and Rose's heart sank a little bit. Something went wrong. The formula wasn't right and the Doctor would be forced to go through even more pain to get the virus ready within the week they had. She felt her head hang down against her chest. Here they go again. "You…are…. _beautiful!_ " The Time Lord breathed excitedly into the microscope.

That had Rose taken aback. "Did you just call a virus that's about to kill a bunch of innocent slaves 'beautiful'?" She asked, disbelief etched into her voice.

"No…" Replied the Doctor without taking his eyes away from the lenses. "I called the  _anti_ virus that's about the  _save_  a bunch of innocent slaves 'beautiful'."

Rose perked up instantly, jumping off the desk in one fluid motion and coming up to stand beside him. The Doctor took the cue and shuffled out of the way so Rose could see in through the lens. Squinting, Rose could just make out the image. It looked absolutely…not extraordinary. Like a pool of green liquid.

"Okay…what am I looking at?"

"Well, nothing now. But – " The image in the lens instantly vanished and Rose looked up in time to see the Doctor move that slide over to the side and slip another one in. The burner had been turned off, but stayed beneath the pad. "Take a look again."

Rose obeyed, narrowing her eyes to the lens once more. This time she could actually see what she assumed were the tiny molecules dancing around their little pool on the slide. Okay, so at least there was something to look at now. She still had no idea what it meant, or how it could ever be classified as 'beautiful'.

"You see how there are two different shapes in the molecules?" The Doctor's voice appeared in her ear, as if he had read her under-whelmed thoughts. And yes, she could kind of see how some were uniformly bigger than others. And maybe if she squinted a bit more she could make out an extra point on the smaller ones.

"Yeah. Why's that?"

"That's because they literally are two different molecules. The rabies virus, and the antivirus."

Rose's eyes snapped back to the Doctor. "Seriously? Is that even possible? Wouldn't they cancel each other out?"

"Nope. We have two completely different molecules co-existing inside a neutral solution that keeps the molecules separate but still sustains the proper environment to keep the virus's alive." He flashed her one of his now rare genuine smiles. "Yep, I'm that good."

Rose bit her lip. "Okay, I didn't get very high marks in my science classes, true, but something tells me that's not usually how this is supposed to work."

"It's not. It's completely ridiculous, at least that's what the rational side of my brain told the weird side when it first came up with the idea. Right up there with banana-skin shoes, totally bonkers.  _BUT,_ the more I thought about it the more it actually started to make sense. Master is only going to allow one injection – the tracker pad – and I couldn't have two different capsules on it, or find a way to ensure another injection."

"You mean Jancon." Rose corrected instantly.

"What?"

"You said 'Master' but you meant Jancon, yeah?"

The Doctor just stared at her for a moment before crinkling his nose. "Oh, yes, course I meant that. Sorry. But anyway, I knew I had to get an antivirus on there somehow. Maybe I could make a dual-chambered capsule? But no, that would end up being too large for the tracker pad if I included enough of both virus and antivirus, or too small for either one to be at all effective if I kept the capsule it's normal size. Maybe I could soak the tracker pad in the antivirus so it gets in the system before the virus would be activated? No again. Then the virus would have no effect, and I know Master is going to try it out to make sure I did it right before he puts it into use."

"Jancon." Rose corrected again, an edge of worry in her voice.

"Yes, that, thank you." The Doctor amended distractedly. "Really, I am trying to stop. But anyway! I realized that the only way it would work would be to  _combine_ both virus and antivirus in the same chamber so we wouldn't have to waste room including the extra protective fluid each virus needed. But then the problem arose that I  _still needed_ protective fluid for  _both_ of them, regardless. So the real trial came in figuring out how to make  _that_ work.

"You see, the truth is," The Doctor continued, bringing his voice back down from the excited level it had been to something a little more somber and serious. "I could've had the virus formula done in…oh, I don't know? Two hours? Three hours, tops. Really, what Master –"

"Jancon."

"– asked was a piece of cake. My final exam at the Academy was more difficult.  _But_ it was that bloody fluid that took me so long to figure out. But – " The Doctor suddenly froze and looked seriously at Rose before intentionally emphasizing, " _Jancon_ – insisted I hurry things along, so I gave it the old Gallifrey try, and, as usual, it just happened to work. I managed to design a formula with both the environmental requirements of both viruses  _and_ a system that would ensure the virus is released first, followed by the antivirus before any fatal side effects can happen."

"That's the loophole"

"Yep-o!" The Doctor really was getting excited again. It had been so long since he'd had something to really, truly be excited about. He'd almost forgotten how much he likes the feeling. "You see… _Jancon_ …only said he wanted me to make him a virus. He never gave me explicit instructions not to make anything else. So long as the virus works, there's really no need for him to know about the antivirus until it's too late."

"But you said something about Jancon probably wanting to test the injection beforehand." Rose crossed her arms again as she leaned backwards against the counter, trying to keep up with the Doctor's explanations. "So even if you  _have_ found a way to get both the virus and antivirus on there undetected, he'll eventually discover the antivirus when the tests miraculously come back unaffected, right?"

At this the Doctor made a pained face. "Yes…I've thought about that. And I'm also almost positive the tests will be done on living subjects, too, so that really doesn't make this any easier. But the only way I could think to get around it is to have a manual override of the tracker pad. Sort of like the remote Jancon will have to activate the virus. It will be able to target specific capsules so Master can choose who to trigger and when so people won't get too suspicious of all the other competitors randomly dropping dead."

Holding onto the side of the table again, the Doctor hobbled around to a set of cabinets and twisted it open. The metal sang with lack of use as a draw was pulled out. From it the Doctor grabbed what looked like a typical small remote, like the ones people leave in their cars to open the garage, a large microchip with what looked like a small pocket protruding from the bottom, and a one and a half inch by one and a half inch metal plate with a hump coming out of its center. Rose helped him by taking hold of the devices and setting them on his work table as he hopped back around the lab. His left knee wasn't looking much better.

"So what are these things?" Rose asked curiously. "I'm guessing this is the remote you're giving to Jancon?" She held up the small remote, holding it gingerly between her thump and forefinger as if it had been drenched in Slitheen vomit.

"Yep. That remote will control this –" The Doctor pointed to the large microchip. "and trigger the heating pad I'm going to install beneath the capsule. That's the trick, you see. The virus's molecules burn at a lower temperature than the antivirus, so by heating the pad up it will send the heat into the capsule above and, because of the design of the capsule walls, the fumes of the virus will be able to seep through them. Then this guy –" This time he indicated the square piece of metal with the hump. "when turned on, will target the active pad with the highest heat signature and turn  _up_ the heat, all the way until the antivirus is able to seep out as well. Pretty simple, eh?"

Rose frowned. Yes, it was simple. But she could still see a major flaw.

"But how are you going to activate it?" She pointed at the bump. "I'm assuming that's some sort of button you have to press? But aren't you not allowed to bring anything into the Trial with you?"

Again, the Doctor made an unpleasant face. "Yeah, that's why I have to implant it somewhere in my body."

Rose blanched. She had  _not_ been expecting that answer. The metal plate was  _quite_ a bit larger and thicker than the tracker pad they were going to inject. She didn't think a regular tagging gun would be able to fit it. How was he going to get it in?

She ended up asking him just that and, to her absolute horror, watched as the Doctor hobbled over to another draw and pulled out a horrible sharp scalpel. He inspected the blade for a moment before lowering it, testingly, to his left arm, a few inches below the crook of his elbow. Rose noticed for the first time that there was a little mark there, drawn in with pen, right where the Doctor was apparently planning on slicing himself.

"Well, unfortunately," The Doctor eventually responded. "There's really no two ways about it. I'm just going to have to cut myself open, place it beneath the skin close enough to the surface so I can reach the button, but not close enough for it to accidentally go off at any touch, and really,  _really_ hope I don't knick any veins and cause any massive internal bleeding." He looked up at Rose with eyes that looked like they were just as unconvinced of the sanity of this plan as she was. He picked up the metal plate one more time and measured it against his arm. Suddenly it looked about ten times larger than before.

"Piece of cake, yeah?"


	37. Chapter 37

By some small mercy, the Doctor managed to not make a single sound to give away how much pain he was really in. True, he  _had_  been through worse just in the last seven days – no, wait, make that five days, he forgot about that one incident when he accidentally said Jancon instead of Master – but there really was no feeling that could compare to a shining, sharp blade slicing through your own sensitive skin and muscle tissue.

The incision was only about two inches square, set into the delicate skin on the inside of his left arm. He had tried to make it himself, but with no anesthesia or drugs to help numb the pain, his fingers began to shake no long after the first slit, making it increasingly difficult to make the precise cuts he needed. Too shallow and the trigger would cause the skin to bulge, making it too obvious. Too deep and the Doctor wouldn't be able to even  _reach_ the trigger, not to mention the metal plating on the chip could get too close to the more important veins and nerves set deep in the arm and cause unknowable damage. If the cuts were too jagged he could accidentally nick an artery or vein, causing internal bleeding, or the chip might not be able to fit if the lines cut in too close.

It was a far finer art then Rose had expected, still thinking the Doctor was insane as he turned to her, holding the bleeding scalpel in the palm of his hand, and asked her to finish it for him. She could see his pain in the way his fingers shook, but he didn't tell her that was the reason he needed her help, only announcing he that couldn't reach his own arm from that angle.

She let him have that one. They weren't allowing him to keep much dignity here, so even though she had only just been scolding him for lying, she let this one slide. Besides, deep down Rose always knew the Doctor lies. It's in his natural. She had just hoped he wouldn't still be lying to her. After all they'd been through.

The chip was planted and the final stitch was being done. The Doctor made a face as the thread pulled annoyingly on his skin as Rose tightened the stitch, tying it off with shaking fingers. "Sorry…" She muttered as she caught sight of his locked jaw and squinted eyes.

"S'okay. Just – be gentle."

"I thought I  _was_ being gentle."

"Well, then, be gentl _er._ " The Doctor hissed slightly as Rose twisted the thread around to finish off the last knot.

Using a pair of scissors, Rose cut the final thread and put the tools back on the counter. "There you go, you big baby." Her playful tone earned her a small laugh from the Time Lord, who twisted his arm around to see the results of their disobedience. Eight stitches now crisscrossed over the white skin of his lower arm in a neat square, framing the chip. There was a little raise where the trigger pressed against his skin, sticking out like a spider bite might. There, but not too noticeable.

The stitches, on the other hand, were  _very_ noticeable, and the square they were in far too exact to be written off as an accidental cut. Orange blood still trickled idly from between the stitches.

"Beautiful." The Doctor murmured in a voice that said the exact opposite. He flexed his arm up and down and made a grabbing motion with his hand. The Doctor gave a nod of approval. Everything seemed to still be working fine – a bit tender and painful, but working.

"How is it?" Rose asked.

"I'll definitely survive." He replied distantly. "The question is…will anyone else?"

With only a little hobble, the Doctor was able to make it over to the counter with the microscope again. As predicted, the swelling in his knee was already going down and the main in his leg was negligible compared to that in his arm. Another good night's sleep and he would be as good as new. Or…at least mobile again.

The slide holding the raw virus/anti-virus mix had been removed from under the microscope and was replaced with one of the sample chips the Doctor had been given to work with. It sat inside a Petri dish beneath a layer of orange substance. The Doctor's on blood he'd taken to act as a test environment. Beside it was a capsule shell holding the mix together. It was still eerily green and bubbling slightly like a carbonated drink, even inside the tiny container. The Doctor explained to Rose that the bubbling was actually the anti-virus rebelling against the chemical separating it from the virus, but it still looked freaky and weird.

"Shell's solidified." The Doctor accounted as he poked the capsule with his finger childishly. "Let's test this bad boy out."

The Doctor raised his left arm, subconsciously tracing the square of stitches before hovering his finger over the raised center. Rose winced as she saw the blood still oozing from between the thread and torn skin. "Isn't that going to hurt? Why didn't you test it out  _before_ putting it in your arm?" She questioned.

The Doctor looked up at her through his heavy eyelids. He was thoroughly exhausted. "Naw, I would've had to test it subdurmally anyway, and I can only make so many shells with what I've got right now. Besides, what's a little more pain?"

Rose made a strange sort of huffing noise that the Doctor chose to ignore. With surprisingly steady fingers, the Time Lord picked up the tiny, delicate capsule and placed it carefully on the tag, securing it down with minuscule metal arms Rose hadn't even been able to see before. Now in place, the Doctor activated the tag using the silver remote designed for Jancon to use. A little light turned on in the top right hand corner or the remote. It had found the chip and recognized its signature, ready to give the command.

The Doctor pressed a button on the side and a new panel slid down. Rose raised her eyebrows, impressed. The remote appeared too small and slim at first to hold the hidden screen it now sported. The symbols  **ST001 A N110 W407** were lit up on the screen. Using the main button, the Doctor scrolled much like Rose used to on her old iPod until the numbers were highlighted. A basic  **?** appeared beside the numbers and letters. The Doctor hesitated for a moment and took a deep breath.

"Ready?"

Rose answered back "Are you?"

The Doctor shook his head minutely. "Here goes."

One eye on the screen, one eye on the tag, The Doctor carefully moved his finger back to the center of the stitches and, biting his lower lip, pressed down.

"Arg!" The Doctor groaned, clutching at his left arm as the word  **ACTIVATED** flashed over the numbers on the screen.

"What is it?" Rose asked frantically, leaping forward in a desperate need to help him. The Doctor just shook his head again, wincing as he swung his arm around experimentally. The pain seemed to have left his eyes, but he was still a bit in shock.

"It's okay." He assured his companion. "I designed the tag in my arm to give off a small vibration whenever a virus is activated so I'll know when to send an anti-virus. But I guess the vibration wasn't as small as I was expecting."

"Yeah, and it being inside your arm couldn't have helped much either."

The Doctor gave a small chuckle. "No, it didn't help at all. Too late to change now. What was it I was saying earlier about more pain?"

"That you don't deserve it." Rose supplied with a meaningful glare.

"That, too. But what's more important is… _this._ " The Doctor swooped down on the microscope, ending the conversation before Rose could get angry and protective again, and peered through at the tracker tag. A moment passed before a tiny grin swept across his face. "Well, that's the virus working." He stepped aside and motioned for Rose to take a look. Leaning down over the lens, Rose could see fumes hanging over the dish, fogging up the plastic container a bit, as small black specks formed and attached to the small red blood cells. The virus was taking over the blood supply. It looked…incredible, she had to admit. As horrible as it was and as horrible as it was going to be, it was still remarkable that all this was actually happening right before her eyes.

"The fumes settle and form the virus strains, which affect the blood cells when they come in contact." The Doctor explained behind her. "In a few minutes the blood will be completely infected, and the heart will be spreading it throughout the entire blood supply. Once it reaches the brain, the victim won't even be aware of what they're doing anymore. Animalistic anger and instinct will take over. Until  _this_ happens."

As the Doctor spoke, the fumes of the virus had settled into the blood, leaving it now a morbid maroon color the Time Lord's blood should never be. But then a new smoke appeared, lighter this time, and Rose watched as the fumes fused together into white particles and attacked the blackness taking over the blood. After a minute the blood was already returning back to normal. Rose gave a small gasp of amazement and before she could stop herself she breathed out, "You. Are. Incredible."

She straighten up in time to see the Doctor looking rather pleased with himself before schooling his expression into one of humble acceptance. "Please, it was nothing." He replied with fake modesty.

"No, seriously." Rose emphasized. "You never stop amazing me."

The Doctor just smiled at her with his 1000 watt grin before pushing her aside playfully so he could reach the microscope. He peered in for a few seconds before leaning back up, smile still in place. "I think," He said carefully in a quiet voice. "We might actually get away with this one…"

Rose couldn't help the excited giggle that escaped her as she clung to his uninjured are, wrapping her arms around it in a kind of energized hug. But then she stopped, a thought crossing her mind. "Alright, so we have the tag and virus situation taken care of. But what about the Trial itself?"

The Doctor glanced down at her with a questioning look. "I mean," Rose continued. "How are you going to get out of the Trial? Have you thought about that yet?"

The Doctor just frowned. "Rose, I'm not getting out of the Trial."

"What do you mean? Of course you are. You said it's like Hunger Games meets Fugitive, you're not actually going in there."

Yes, I am." The Doctor replied sorrowfully. "I have to."

Rose just stared at him for a moment before squinting at him. "Do you need another slap in the face? Because you actually sound serious."

"I am serious. Rose, I can't get out of the Trial. I'm under nearly constant supervision, and if you haven't noticed, you are, too. Not to mention this thing," The Doctor shook his right leg with the silver shock anklet. "Will go off if I cross outside it's range."

"Then find a way to deactivate it." Rose quickly countered. "Come on, if you can make a virus coexist with its own anti-virus the surely you can figure out a way to get that thing off."

The Doctor just shook his head sadly. "Rose, I can't. I have to compete. If I make it out, Jancon promised he'd set us free and take us back to the TARDIS immediately."

Rose felt her heart beat slow and then quicken, making her feel slightly nauseas as she asked, "And if you don't make it out…?"

The Doctor looked away before answering. "Then Jancon's word will still honored. He'll set you free and find you the first ship back to Earth. Or wherever you wish to go."

It took a moment for the words to sink in.  _So I'm just expected to accept that as a reasonable answer?_ Rose thought with a sneer of disbelief. "No." She found herself saying. The Doctor peered over at her questioningly. "No, that's not going to happen. I'm not just leaving you so I can go settle on Earth. What do I even have there, anyway?"

The Doctor looked at her worriedly. "What do you even have there? Your home? Your mother? Your friends?"

"I don't have any of that." She stated as simply as any other fact in the universe as she practically flew across the lab to where she'd dropped the pieces of paper she'd originally come in here to talk to him about. "We're getting out of here. Tonight, if we have to, tomorrow at the latest. I don't want to stick around any longer than necessary, it's doing things to your head, I can tell. Drugs or no drugs."

She slammed the papers down on the table next to the microscope and jabbed a finger at them. "This is our way out and were taking it. End of discussion."

The Doctor gave an exasperated sigh. "Rose, I already told you, we can't. It won't work, we're – "

"'Just slaves', yeah, I heard that part already. Did you hear the part where I'm going to slap you again if I have to?"

"Loud and clear, but you misunderstood what I meant. I wasn't saying we can't go because our 'Master' hasn't given us permission, I was saying we'll never make it off planet. It's illegal to offer passage to slaves without their master accompanying them, not to mention it's illegal for slaves to hold and exchange money or even enter a port without their master's presence and permission. And let's say by some miracle we  _do_ make it into a town with a ship port and into the building, they use DNA samples to access bank accounts and pull up ID and records, and when we were brought on planet our blood would have been taken and categorized as property of Prebassador Jancon Ligtech. Once they scanned us we would immediately be detained and sent back to him.

"I love how much work you've put into finding an escape route." The Doctor continued as he fingered the papers on the table, eyes staring longingly at the information they possessed. "But we can't risk attempting an escape that is destined to fail, especially when I already have your freedom guaranteed."

"But not your own." Rose concluded shortly. She was angry again. How had the Doctor solved this last time? Even though her arms were now crossed, the Doctor pulled her into another embrace, ignoring the pain in his arm as he held her close. It seemed to work again as she relaxed almost subconsciously, just like last time, resting her forehead against his collarbone.

"You forget, Rose Tyler, I'm not as easy to kill as most people think. And I've still got my regenerations, which they won't know about. I'm not going to leave you, not if I can help it."

Rose took a deep breath and let it out through her nose. Then suddenly she asked, "What time is it?"

The Doctor was startled by her sudden change of tone, but quickly replied. "About 6:08. Half an hour into the moon cycle." He added using the planet's own jargon.

Rose cursed with her own and pushed away. "Ilaria's taken to asking me to eat dinner with her and Jancon. It's  _really_ awkward, they're always asking me about Earth and having all these really intricate questions I have no idea how to answer." Rose grabbed the papers and shoved them into her pockets. "Like last night Jancon asked me about the status of our solar system's galactic law and I didn't know how to respond so I just told them the plot of Star Wars."

The Doctor chuckled at the idea of Rose trying to pawn off  _The Empire Strikes Back_ as a story about Neptune versus Mars. But he quickly stopped as she suddenly pointed harshly at him from the doorway. "This conversation isn't over, mister. We're getting out of here whether you like it or not. I'm just really,  _really_ late!"

With that she spun out the door and sprinted down the hallway. The Doctor waited until her footsteps were silenced by distance before crumbling to the floor with an anguished sigh. His entire left side hated him right then: His left knee still throbbed painfully, his ribs were bruised from training earlier, and his stitches were still pulling uncomfortable with each movement of his arm. Not to mention the pounding in his head and the aching in his hearts. This was all getting to be too much, and now Rose was angry with him, too.

But not only that. That he could handle. An angry Rose could be soothed with a hug, a cup of tea, and some greasy chips. But a forgetting Rose? He felt it both times he swallowed her in an embrace that night, resting his cheek against the top of her head. For the briefest of moments both times he allowed himself to slip into her mind, so shallowly and so carefully she didn't even notice, but enough to see the chaos and destruction within her.

He had fucked up. The Doctor never liked to use that bit of Earth slang, but there was really no other word strong enough to explain just how badly he'd messed with her mind. And the drugs Rose had been given in Eyal had only made it so much, much worse.

Rose was losing her mind. One memory, one thought at a time. She wouldn't be able to tell, she wouldn't even be able notice it was happening at all. But it was, right in front of their eyes. In the way her emotions jumped around, how she could go from angry and sad to energetic and smiling again in the blink of an eye with no real incentive, how she couldn't even think of a single reason to return to Earth.  _"I don't have any of that."_ She had responded when he mentioned her home, her friends, her  _mum._ Was she forgetting about her own  _mother_?

 _She may have just been caught in the moment,_ the Doctor tried to convince himself. After all, this wouldn't be the first time she'd said nothing else mattered to her except for him, but each time it had been more of a 'they take the back seat to you' rather than a 'they don't exist at all' kind of thing.

Was he overreacting? No, he had seen it himself inside her mind. It was like a black hole had formed and was sucking in one piece of Rose at a time. The Doctor shuddered violently and banged his head back against the counter behind him as he forced himself not to think about what happened when there was nothing left for the vacuum to consume. What would be left of Rose?

With an unsteady breath, the Doctor pulled himself back to his feet. There was nothing he could do about it tonight. He needed to clean up the lab and make it spotless before the guards came to take him back to the slave quarters. He felt useless and without options, but that was hardly a new feeling anymore. Tomorrow he would wake to another dose of the drugs and be back to his slave self again.

But for now his arm was still bleeding, and the stitches were far too visible and obvious.

He grabbed a bandage off the table and began wrapping the area, placing a strip of gauze directly over the wound to protect it until the incisions healed enough to remove the stitches. Then he set about scrubbing the lab down as he did each night, hiding his redemption in the form of a chemical away inside a bottom drawer and hoping, despite knowing it was futile, that his guilt would get locked in there with it as well.


	38. Chapter 38

The door swished open behind his back, but the Doctor didn't bother raising his eyes from his newest project.

"Rose, pass me those pliers on the table, will you?"

The Doctor jerked his head behind him and slightly to the right towards a tray of tools on the counter. His bangs, still damp from his shower, were flung off to the side from the movement and stuck to his forehead. Agitated with their persistent tickle, the Doctor used his free hand to rake his fingers through his hair, making every strand stand up in its usual gravity defying way. He really was in need of another haircut.

His other hand expertly twisted two wires around themselves into an intricate knot. His fingers dipped and coiled and pulled until it was almost perfect, he just needed those pliers to tighten it up and bend them down into the perfect shape.

And then the Doctor paused. His eyes remained on the wire as he shouted over his shoulder. "No, wait! Rose, I lied. Don't need the pliers. Don't need anything actually, why don't you come back in – oh, let's say twenty minutes? How's that sound?"

"A _hem_."

 _Okay…that was not Rose's voice._ The Doctor spun around so fast he nearly tripped over himself. Standing in the doorway was definitely not Rose. Her skin was a pale purple, like lavenders, with dark black hair hanging almost to her waist. She looked hesitant as she stood there, one arm crossed over her front as she held a pile of black fabric against her chest.

"John, right?"

"Er – yeah, hello." The girl was vaguely familiar, but it was often hard to remember someone when the color of their skin kept changing. "Chirla, right?"

The Doctor's stab in the dark seemed to pay off as the girl smiled widely. "That's right. We've never actually met, but your mate tells me about you almost constantly." The Doctor fought hard to keep a blush from rising in his cheeks. Especially when he noticed her trying – and failing – to casually look around him at the table. Surely she must have heard rumors, or even truths, from the rest of the staff about what Jancon had his slave doing down here at all hours of the day. The Doctor just furtively leaned to the side to block her view. He didn't know how loyal this girl was to Jancon, and he didn't want her seeing that he wasn't working on what he should. Consequences following, and all.

"Right…what can I do for you, Chirla?" He asked, trying to steer her attention away from the mess of wires and stones on the table.

Chirla seemed to snap out of her curiosity and moved her arms as if to show off the black bundle she held. "Mrs. Sihn asked me to bring these to you and order that you quickly drink and change, and then head up to the kitchens. Your assistance is needed."

The Doctor frowned. "My assistance?" What could they possibly need him for when, for all they knew, he was supposed to be busily working on the virus.

"The Prebassador and his wife are throwing a small gathering and you are expected to serve."

This only caused the Doctor to blanch. "A – a server? But…I wasn't bought for that."

The girl frowned slightly. "You're a slave. You were bought to do what your master tells you to." She didn't say it unkindly, but the words still stung, causing the Doctor's breath to hitch as he was so brutally reminded of his position once again.

Chirla set the bundle on the table nearest the door. She didn't seem to want to come in. By now the Doctor could tell it was a pair of nice black trousers, an expensive black shirt which he could tell would be too small even from far away, and a single small bottle of clear liquid that made the Doctor's mouth go dry.

"I've been instructed to wait until you finish the drink before leaving." Chirla said as if reading the Doctor's thoughts about dumping it down the drain.

"Do I have to?" The Doctor groaned rather childishly as he stepped forward, picking up the bottle as if it were about to explode.

Chirla gave him a sympathetic frown. "Mrs. Sihn said something about being on your best behavior. If you didn't want to take it, you shouldn't have been a bad slave."

The Doctor barely repressed his glare. The girl seemed nice at first, and apparently had already befriended Rose, but the Doctor decided in that moment that he really didn't like the servant very much at all. He lowered his eyes but not his glare, not wanting to give her another attribute of being a bad slave to comment on, as he raised the bottle. "Cheers." He muttered before tipping it back, cringing as the substance slid down the back of his throat.

The effects were not instantaneous, but they would be upon him soon.

The girl seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. What, did she think he was going to attack her or something? She nodded towards the pile of clothes. "Get dressed and clean up, you're expected up in the kitchens already."

With that she left. Confusion flitted across his mind. The Doctor had only been in the lab for an hour and a half. They never pulled him out early. As far as habit had proven, he should be stuck in here for at least another three hours. But none-the-less, he immediately got to work cleaning up his work station.

The necklace was almost done. The rare stones Ammacus managed to procure for him the last time he was allowed out to market glittered against the black top of the table, ready to be put in place. They shined like their own individual stars. Surprisingly they were exceedingly inexpensive at the market, mostly because this planet didn't understand just  _how_ rare they really were since they didn't know how to use the stones and the planet was simply speckled with them. The only planet in eight galaxies.

Many of the Memory Stones – or Whisper-Wells as some systems called them – were already infused with his thoughts and memories, thoughts and memories he wanted to share with Rose…just in case. Everything he's thought and never voiced, felt but never acted on, memories that made his hearts hurt with the amount of happiness they brought him. The ninth incarnation still inside him rolled his eyes at how overly sentimental he was being, but if this was his last chance to say it, he wasn't going to be cut off by circumstance.

The only thing left to share were instructions. One of the stones would have instructions telling Rose how to fly the TARDIS back to Earth, another would have instructions telling the TARDIS to ignore anything Rose says or does and take her back to Earth anyway. She would argue and fight it, he knew, trying to do something stupid like go back in their own timeline and stop this from ever happening, and he couldn't allow it.

Not only because it's  _wrong_ to go back in your own timeline…but, despite everything that's happened to them, the Doctor has never felt closer to his little yellow and pink human. Sometimes horrible situations produce beautiful things. At least he has to make himself think that. He  _has_ to believe in silver linings. He can't afford not to. And he can't afford to do anything else.

The lab was finally clean and spotless as usual, the necklace and its intricate little bits swept carefully into a drawer along with the tools to go with it. The Doctor ran is hand through his hair one more time, this time smoothing it into something a little more appropriate than the hedgehog look. Nothing ever interrupted the new routine. Not since Jancon made it perfectly clear what he expects of the Doctor. And since the Time Lord had conveniently forgotten to tell his lord and master that the virus (and antivirus) were complete, there was no reason for the routine to change. This exception, admittedly, made him nervous.

He quickly changed into the clothes left for him, making sure his shirt was tucked in and wrinkle-free and his hair was in a manageable style. He splashed some water on his face to liven it up and ease the worry-wrinkles forming along his forehead. He wasn't trained in this. Sure, Bachir had him serving the trainer during his time in Eyal, but that had been relatively informal and only for one person. How many guest would Jancon have? Would he be serving food or cocktails. Or…or something else?

The Doctor stared up at himself in the mirror. Now he could feel it. The usual terror of being a slave was eating at him from the inside. Normally he was able to push it aside, but with the drugs running fresh through his system he could not. He was scared of screwing up. He was scared of being a bad slave.

Too much time had already passed. The Doctor tore himself away from the pitiful creature in the mirror and trudged out of the lab.

The guard stationed outside the side door gave him a quick nod before marching beside him towards the estate. Had the Doctor been "sober" he would have had to suppress the desire to roll his eyes and make some sarcastic comment about the guard's dutiful seriousness. They act as if the Doctor were a high-security prisoner…but now that he thinks about it that sounds about right. Maybe after watching all his training exercises through that poorly concealed camera in the gym, Jancon finally realized just how dangerous the Doctor can be.

He didn't feel dangerous right now. He just felt vulnerable.

* * *

Rose couldn't understand it.

The blue dress a servant had brought to her room earlier that evening was easily the fanciest and most expensive dress she had ever dared to dream about wearing. But now she had it on, corset cutting off her air supply and everything, feeling like an out-of-place fairytale princess. But she couldn't be the princess. That title was saved for Ilaria, who was dressed not to the nines but to the nine hundreds in a gown of violet lace that matched perfectly with the purple streaks in her hair. If they had been on Earth, those streaks would look trashy, something a rebellious teenage girl would do to annoy her parents, but somehow the woman managed to make them look high fashion and perfectly classy.

Everyone else was dressed beautifully as well. Dignitaries from nearby planets and other friends of the Prebassador's family were gathered in the dinning hall, awaiting the servants to appear with their first course, exchanging stories and jokes and laughter Rose tried to join in with.

What Rose couldn't understand, though, was  _why she was there._  Even though Ilaria and Jancon hardly treated her like the slave they bought, she had hardly expected to be attending dinner parties as a guest alongside the beautiful and famous and rich. If anything she expected to be serving.

But no, Rose was reminded with what felt like a punch to the stomach as she looked down under the table. They already had someone filling that position. Her eyes fell sadly on the sight of the Doctor kneeling, head down, eyes pinned to the floor, beside Ilaria's chair at the head of the table. He was drugged again, she could tell by the defeated set of his shoulders and the way he refused to lift his eyes to her, or anyone else.

He had been in there when everyone else walked in, standing dutifully against the wall behind Ilaria's chair with his hands clasped respectfully behind his back. Rose wanted to run up to him, demand why he was there, throw her arms around him just to wipe that blank look of detachment from his face, but knew that would only bring the Time Lord more trouble. So instead she sat in her assigned seat and watched with worried eyes as the Doctor stepped away from the wall, gave Ilaria a small bow of respect, and pulled the chair out for her. Once she and everyone else were in their seats as well, the Doctor slid like liquid to his knees beside her, where he had stayed ever since.

Rose didn't like it. His silence and complete lack of movement. It was even more distracting that his usual boundless, talkative energy, and she found herself unable to follow the conversations going on around her. It took every ounce of concentration she possessed not to openly stare at the Time Lord the whole dinner. She recognized the position he was kneeling in. It was  _the_ position, and it still sent a shiver down her spine. Would she ever get over what happened at Eyal? She could hardly even remember anything before going to that place.

Actually…Rose frowned.  _Was_ there a before? Surely there had to have been, she had memories of it. But they felt wrong. Distant. Like they belonged to someone else.

She would have to talk to the Doctor about that later. When he wasn't busy acting like a piece of furniture.

Rose started back to reality as a plate of strange green leafs and purple chunks was placed in front of her. She quickly recognized it as the Aonian equivalent of a salad. She turned to the servant who delivered it and smiled. "Thanks."

The servant's look of shock and surprise was shared with her neighbor to the right, who stared at Rose as if she'd just tried to hold a conversation with a tree. She dropped her eyes to her lap, instantly self-conscious, but a tiny exhaled laugh caught her attention. She glanced down and saw the Doctor smiling slightly even as he kept his eyes on the ground, head shaking ever so slightly as he laughed inwardly at her. Rose would have playfully kicked him into silence had he not been on the other side of the table. And if his brilliant but drugged mind wouldn't interpret it as punished for being insolent and disrespectful towards a 'free woman'.

That thought brought reality back to her once more. Everyone else was already eating, delicately stabbing at the greenery on their plates as they spoke.

"It's a shame Jancon couldn't join us." One man – Rose thought he might be a senator of some kind, or another person in government – was saying to Ilaria. The Doctor tensed at the mention of his name, but Ilaria didn't seem to notice.

"Yes, it is rather unfortunate." Ilaria responded as she took another sip of her purple wine. Rose didn't miss the fact that everyone but her at the table had been served wine. Again, she wondered what she was doing here? Was her presence just another way to humiliate the Doctor? Or would it turn into a way to humiliate the human herself? "His father has been ill for quite some time now, and we fear tonight may be his last."

Rose didn't think Ilaria sounded too upset about it. And seriously, what was she doing hosting a dinner party when her father-in-law was on his deathbed. How did that make any moral sense?

Everyone else was much better at acting sympathetic. "It is a shame." The woman to her right, who had given Rose the weird look for thanking a servant, said with a shake of her head. "The Bassador was a great man."

"Although – not wishing to speak ill of the ill – a few of his past edicts could do with some revising." Another man with vibrantly bright white hair added with a meaningful look. "In my opinion, some of his regulations on the Being Trade and Service industry were a bit harsh."

"Harsh, but necessary." Rose now wanted to tune out the conversation. She had no idea what the Being Trade and Service industry was and what Jancon's dad's regulations had been, but she really, honestly didn't care. Why was she even  _there_? "The Industry was dealing Crayans and Lycannots under the table for years before Bassador Ligtech stepped in."

And now Rose understood. The Being Trade and Service industry must be the slave market on Shelwick. She recognized those two species as among those illegal to enslave on the planet, along with humans. Rose retained a laugh.  _I guess even with the 'Bassador's' regulations there's still under the table trading,_ she thought humorlessly.

"Miss Rose, what about you?"

Rose jerked her head up, clearly not expecting to be drawn into the conversation. It must have been obvious she hadn't been paying attention, because the woman quickly restated, "Have you felt any hostility or aggression being a human here?"

Rose glanced at Ilaria and then down at the Doctor, wondering how she should respond. Neither of them helped her. Ilaria just leaned forward, acting genuinely interested in her answer, while the Doctor continued to stare resolutely at the floor as if he couldn't hear any of the conversation going on. "Umm…" Rose started dumbly. She didn't want to say 'yes' because that would be rude to Ilaria and who knew who she'd take that out one –  _maybe on the poor guy kneeling at her feet_ – but saying 'no' wasn't true either. Perhaps it wasn't hostility or aggression, but it was definitely discrimination within the estate.

So Rose just answered, "You know, I haven't really had a chance to get off the grounds here, so I can't really tell."

The answer seemed to satisfy everyone enough. "That's a shame." A man across the table whose hungry gaze Rose did not appreciate said. "You should get out and see the country, Shelwick is a beautiful planet. I wouldn't mind taking you for a tour…"

Rose just smiled her gratitude, not trusting her rebellious 21st century attitude not to come out and tell the guy he'd better start looking at her a foot higher up than he was or she'd gouge his eyes out for him. Instead she took her last bite of salad and used it as her excuse for silence.

A few minutes later the servants returned and took their salad plates, replacing them with a bowl of thick, enticing smelling soup. It was creamy and steaming and Rose couldn't help but smile at how good it smelled.

Her smile instantly vanished when she saw how the Doctor shifted. His eyes, as ever, wouldn't leave the ground, but his discomfort was clear. He had been kneeling on the hard wood floor for what must have been twenty minutes now, so there was no way his knees weren't feeling the pain yet. He tried to shift discretely, so no one would notice, placing weight on one knee at a time, but Rose knew from experience it wouldn't be enough. His knees were going to be sore and bruised for quite a while after this.

Not only was she wondering what she was doing here, but what was  _he_ doing here? So far nothing. But soon Rose's question was answered as Ilaria took the last sip from her glass of wine. As if some kind of silent trigger went off, the Doctor raised himself swiftly to his feet, obviously attempted to ignore the pain in his lower legs, and quickly refilled the woman's glass from a pitcher she hadn't even seen him produce. No one else took any notice to him save Rose, who realized she was staring. It wasn't all that surprising, really. She had been trained to be a server as well, once. But watching him in action as if it were the most natural thing in the universe honestly made her feel a little sick.

And then at the last second, as the glass was almost completely full again with the purple stuff, the Doctor raised his eyes for the first time and stared directly into Rose's. The connection only lasted a fraction of a second, but Rose felt her heart stop. She knew that look in his eyes, and he had the  _audacity_ to ask her with them if  _she_ was okay.

Rose tried to nod, but the Doctor was already sinking back to his knees. She tried to catch his eye under the table, but once again they wouldn't rise. Rose was about to return to her slowly cooling soup when suddenly she saw Ilaria's hand reach down towards the Doctor. The Time Lord flinched as her fingers came in contact with his scalp as if expecting to be hit (of course he was expecting to be hit, he'd raised his eyes, he dared to look a 'free woman' in the face) but instead Ilaria laced them through his hair, stroking the top of his head like you would a dog.

The man sitting next to her chuckled as he looked down at the kneeling slave. "Jumpy one, isn't he."

Ilaria smiled fondly. "Yes, you will have to excuse our John, he's new to the family. His training is still in progress."

The woman beside Rose raised her eyebrows. "Buying untrained now, are we Ilaria? I did not think that was your style."

Ilaria crinkled her nose slightly in a way that still made her look dignified. "No, not at all. I prefer my slaves knowledgeable and ready to serve by the time I purchase them. John here is actually my dear husband's."

"Ahh," Came an understanding sigh from the hungry-eyed man, whose attention was finally off Rose. "I can see Jancon desiring to prove his worth and fend off the dregs of boredom by becoming a trainer." He chuckled lightly. "The poor thing," He said with no sign of sympathy at all. "No wonder he jumps at contact. I can only imagine, judging from the way Jancon  _'trains'_  his rivals at court, how he would train a wild slave."

Rose had to move her hands below the table to hide the white-knuckled fists she'd formed. There was no point trying to eat her soup now. Not only was she sure she wouldn't be able to keep it down, but the spoon would be shaking so hard there wouldn't be anything left on it by the time it reached her mouth.

"My husband and I once took on an unruly and tried to train it ourselves as well." Said the woman beside her as if she were talking about training a new puppy. "It's hard work, but the work pays off tremendously. It'll start to dote upon you in no time….actually, I can see it's already happening." She hid a small giggle as her eyes fell beneath the table.

Rose's stomach churned as she followed her gaze to the Doctor. His eyes had slid closed and he was actually  _leaning_ into Ilaria's touch. Rose felt her cheeks burn. Why was he doing that? What was the point? Why was he acting like some pet craving his owners touch and approval? The drugs couldn't be  _that_ strong. He couldn't have already fallen  _that_  low.

"He's a true prize, my friends." Ilaria was saying as she gazed down on the slave. "My dear husband has a completely different purpose for him in mind, but would he not make the most perfect pet?"

Everyone made noises of agreement. "He is beautiful." One said, while another offered "Congratulations." Rose didn't notice who was speaking. She was, instead, glaring at the napkin in her lap, refusing to look up at the guests, refusing to look down at her Doctor, knowing she wouldn't be able to eat a single bite more of what she was sure was going to be the longest dinner of her life.

* * *

It was growing late and the Doctor was exhausted. His knees trembled slightly as he fought to keep standing. The hardwood floor had destroyed his legs, leaving them bruised and sore from the two hours of kneeling beside Ilaria's chair. He could still feel the drug muddling his mind but he didn't dare excrete any of it, terrified someone would notice. Besides, he was grateful. His master – or rather his master's wife – desired he be on his best behavior and helped him avoid doing anything that would result in punishment by taking away that ability to disobey. He was happy for it and strove to ensure their gift wasn't for nothing.

Except for that one slip-up.

He felt himself 'slip-up' again as he let his eyes wander over to Rose again. She was sitting stock still, back ramrod straight, in one of the comfortable looking couches in the lounge. Most of the other guests had left, the last one being shown out by Ilaria at that very moment, leaving only Rose and the Doctor alone in the room. That should be a good thing…right?

Rose was staring at him. He could feel her gaze, but he hadn't been told he could stand at ease and therefore couldn't return it, couldn't turn to her, couldn't ask why there were bleeding fingernail-shaped marks on the palms of her hands or why she hadn't eaten anything at dinner. He was worried, naturally, but there was nothing he could do but stand there where Ilaria had instructed him to.

The dinner had not been as bad as he had expected. To be honest, he'd been expecting to serve his master personally, but for some reason Master hadn't been there. He was hardly upset about that. Master never exactly gave him a reason to feel safe, always angry with him, threatening, punishing. Nothing like Ilaria. Nothing as reassuring as Ilaria's fingers stroking through his hair, letting him know he had been a good boy.

Why couldn't Master be like that? He only wanted Master's approval, anyway, why couldn't he receive it? He was doing exactly what Master wanted. He made the virus –  _let's not mention what_ else  _I made though…_  - he was competing in the Trials, he wasn't trying to escape. What more did the man want?

Ilaria came back into the room, a laugh still on her lips from her last farewell as she plopped down onto a lounge chair. She was far more relaxed then Rose was, who wasn't even leaning back into the cushions. The Doctor couldn't understand why. The couch looked so comfortable. Much more comfortable than where he was standing in the corner of the room closest to Ilaria's chair, head bowed and arms folded behind his back as usual. What he wouldn't give for a single cushion to sit on, or his bed to collapse into. It had been a long, stressful day, what with training and then this. All he wanted to do was go to sleep.

"Hosting is exhausting." Ilaria suddenly spoke up and the Doctor jerked back to attention. The woman sat up for a moment and let her eyes land on the Doctor. He tried not to move under her gaze, but her white eyes stayed on him much longer than usual, as if she was considering something. "Do you have songs on Gallifrey, Time Lord?"

The question startled the Doctor. He cleared his throat momentarily before answering, voice a bit rough from not being used all night and from lack of water. Rassilon, he was thirsty.

"Yes, ma'am, we do." Was all he answered. He couldn't tell why she would ask that question. Of course they had songs. Every culture had songs.

Ilaria turned over on the couch, curling around a cushion and closing her eyes. "Sing me a lullaby from your planet, John."

The Doctor felt his hearts constrict. It was one thing to acknowledge that there were songs from Gallifrey, but to  _sing_ them…The Doctor hadn't allowed himself to sing any song of his people since that day, not since the war destroyed everything. Not since he destroyed everything. He had no right to sing their songs, to relive the joyous notes and melodies of the people he basically committed genocide to. His own people. His own songs.

But he had been ordered to by his mistress, so he cleared his throat, taking a deep, settling breath. He was about to start a song his mother used to sing to him at night, when the nightmares took hold and refused to release his troubled mind, but he couldn't. The notes stuck in his throat and suddenly he felt like he was choking. He gasped quietly, barely feeling any air reaching his lungs.

"John." Ilaria said expectantly. The Doctor couldn't hesitate any longer. He had to sing. So he did the only thing he could think settle the swell of guilt and nausea rising within him.

He raised his eyes and let them land on the sight of Rose. His Rose, sitting there and staring at him with the most beautiful and tragic mixture of curiosity and compassion painted across her face. He had never sung for her before. There were so many times he wanted to, so many times he should have. To the ancient Gallifreyans, songs held so much more meaning than just notes and sounds, and he had never shared that with Rose. Had never allowed himself to.

Until now. He didn't let his eyes leave her as he opened his mouth for a second try, and this time, the song came out.

He could see Rose's position shift so instantly from one of worry to one of utter surprise. She had never heard the Doctor sing before. It was…unexplainable. The sound coming from the Time Lord was indescribable. She had never heard anything like it in all her life. It was  _beautiful._

Ilaria also spun around, fixing the Doctor with a look of complete and satisfied shock that he chose to ignore. If he paid any attention to the other woman in the room the song would stop. The words would get trapped inside his lungs, the notes jamming in his throat again until he gagged and coughed over them.

But it hurt. It hurt like nothing he'd ever felt at the hands of Master or Bachir. A deep seeded, ever-present pain that came bubbling up with each memory the lullaby possessed. His childhood home, the nursery and his old bed, his mother's arms wrapped around him like a force field, protecting him from the shadows as her voice fought off the demons lurking within them.

He didn't even notice the song was coming to an end until the last note escaped him, hanging heavily in the air as if wishing to remain there forever. Only then did he noticed the wetness on his cheeks. For the first time since starting the song, the Doctor's eyes fell from Rose, landing once again on the floor as one hand reached up to wipe away the tears.

"Doctor…" Rose barely whispered in both concern and awe, and the Doctor didn't even have the energy to worry about the fact that she'd just called him that in front of Ilaria. "That…that was beautiful."

"Thank you, Miss Rose." He still didn't look up.

"Why are you crying?" Came Ilaria's voice, sounding much closer than it would have if she'd still been lying down. The Doctor glanced up enough to see she was now sitting up, much closer to him than he wished for in that moment. "That was beautiful, what do you have to cry about?"

"Nothing, My Lady." The Doctor managed to force out. "The song just means much to me." Was as far as he was going to go into it.

He heard the swish of her gown as she stood and came to stand right in front of him. The Doctor made sure his eyes remained on her shoes until he felt a finger beneath his chin, tilting his head up.

"Look at me, John." The Doctor did as commanded and could see that her own eyes were swimming as well. "I apologize for making you sing for me. You have the most beautiful voice, but it pains me to see you hurt like this."

And then suddenly she leaned forward and pressed her soft lips to his. The Doctor was too surprised to move. He stood frozen in her grasp, his eyes the only thing moving as they darted over to Rose, who, without even noticing it, was now on her feet.

Ilaria pulled away after a few moments.  _Thank Rassilon,_ the Doctor thought until suddenly she said, "Kiss me back, John. It will make you feel better."

The Doctor highly doubted that, but he could hear the command hidden even behind her gently voice. She leaned in again, carefully grazing his lips with hers, waiting expectantly for him to close the rest of the expanse. He didn't want to. He really, really didn't want to.

"Kiss. Me. John." Came the quiet order and he knew he had no other choice. His eyes locked onto Rose's as he leaned the extra inch forward, kissing his mistress back. The woman moaned softly as her wish was grated, wrapping her hand around the back of the Doctor's neck, holding him prisoner there. He couldn't move away without forcefully moving against her hand. He was stuck.

"So this is the welcome I get coming home from my father's deathbed?"

The Doctor and Ilaria jerked apart as if their contact suddenly burned. And there was Jancon, standing in the doorway, leaning again the frame with his tie loosened and jacket half off. The Doctor could smell the alcohol on him and instinctively flinched. The enraged expression on his Master's face didn't help calm him either.

"M-master…" The Doctor tried to say something,  _anything_ in the painful silence that suddenly fell on the room, but the look his master sent him made him stop mid thought.

" _Silence._ "

The Doctor dropped to his knees at the command, trying to show the man he knew his place and  _please, please don't punish me, I'm sorry!_

Somewhere the Doctor knew he had nothing to be sorry about. Ilaria had made the move. Ilaria had ordered him to kiss her back. He had only been following orders. He was just a simple slave, it wasn't his fault.

But what man in their right mind would blame their beautiful wife when there was a helpless scapegoat they could beat the crap out of instead? And of course the man would be angry, even if he _was_ a slave. Why hadn't the Doctor thought about that? Why was he so  _useless_?!

"You ungrateful piece of shit." His master hissed, and the sudden change from the man's usual cultured voice made the Doctor cower even more. "I let you serve here instead of your lonely dungeon for one night, and  _this_ is how you thank me?"

"Oh, Jancon, don't be ridiculous." Ilaria suddenly spoke up, her voice giving away the roll of her eyes. "Like John would do something like that willingly in front of his mate."

So she had noticed his hesitation. The Doctor wasn't sure if that information worked in his favor or not.

"Shut up!" Jancon shouted, followed almost instantly by the sound of fingers slapping skin. The Doctor almost gasped at the thought of his Master striking his wife –  _what's he going to do to_ me  _if he's willing to hit her?_ – before he realized it was  _Ilaria_ who smacked him.

" _Don't_ treat me like one of you slave, Jancon!" She shouted. "First you leave me here to entertain all by myself when we've been planning his dinner for weeks – "

"My father was dying, Ilaria! What did you expect me to do, ignore him?!"

"Well you do a fine job of doing that with everyone else in your life!"

"So that's why you did it, huh? As revenge, because I don't pay enough attention to you, you're going to go fuck any worthless slave who submits?"

The shouting made the Doctor want to vomit from anxiety even more than the words did.

"I'm  _lonely_ Jancon!" Ilaria practically screamed, arms crossed with a glare at her husband. "And you never let me play with him, anyway!"

"He's not a plaything, Ilaria! Not a pet! Not a toy! Not an accessory! He's a competitor! Go buy yourself a fuckling if you want something to pet and feed scraps to under the table!"

"He might not be my pet, Jancon, but at least I appreciate him! He's the last of his kind and you're sending him to his death!"

"It wouldn't be his death if he could just get the fucking formula to work!"

And suddenly his anger turned physical as he spun around and swung his foot into the Doctor's ribs. With a stunned cry, the Time Lord fell to his side, curling in around himself as Jancon's toe slammed into a bruise he already received during training. He went in for another swing and the Doctor raise a hand, trying to shield himself.

"Please, Master -"

The blow landed before he could speak more. He tried to stifle the groan that came with it, but it still tore passed his lips as his arms wrapped around his throbbing chest.

"Jancon!"

"Stop! He's hurt!" Rose shouted.

"It's done!"

Silence followed the Doctor's quiet words. He was still laying on his side, curled tightly in a ball but not daring to get up without permission in case his master wanted to continue using his ribcage as a soccer ball. A deep sigh came from above him.

"Done?" Jancon asked, his voice much calmer. It didn't even sound like the same man who'd been shouting before. "Does it work?"

The Doctor took his master's return to his usual collected voice to be a good sign and carefully pushed himself back to his knees. His breath came heavily as he gasped through the stabs of pain on his side. "Yes, Master." he replied quietly. "Theoretically it should work."

"Theoretically." The Doctor flinched at the way Jancon repeated the word. "Has it been tested?"

"N-no, Master. Not on a live subject, at least. But it WILL work."

No one spoke for a minute as they all considered the Doctor's words. He could practically feel Rose's worried eyes staring at him as he kneeled on the floor, but refused to raise his own to meet them.

Suddenly he felt movement in front of him and flinched backwards as Jancon leaned down in front of him. The master sighed. "I am sorry I hit you, John." He said sincerely as he placed a hand beneath his slave's chin, lifting it so he could see the Doctor's eyes. His breath still smelled strongly of alcohol.

"There's no need to apologize, master." The Doctor replied the way he knew he was expected to.

"How are your ribs?"

The Doctor held back a wince as his master carefully pressed a finger to his injured side. "I'll survive, sir."

"Of course you will," Jancon said softly as his hand moved up to cup the Doctor's cheek. "When you're formula proves to work."

The Doctor couldn't tell if that was supposed to be reassuring or threatening, but it hardly mattered. Jancon's thumb was rubbing gently over his cheekbone now and the Doctor felt himself leaning into the touch. Ilaria's touch had been a blessing at dinner, but this…this was so much more. His master telling him he was okay. Jancon had never been touchy before - and the Doctor had been relieved considering the nature of his position - but now he found himself wishing he could be given such reassurances every day. Just to let him know he'd been a good boy.

Jancon frowned slightly at the way the Doctor's eyes slipped shut and his head tilted into the touch.

"Did you enjoy serving Ilaria at dinner?" He suddenly asked.

The Doctor's eyes opened and he hesitantly lifted them to look at the woman. Ilaria had stopped her pacing and was staring at him, waiting expectantly for his answer. "Yes, Master" he lied quietly as his eyes slipped back to his knees.

"Do you want to be her pet?"

The doctor shook his head. "No, Master, I don't want to be a pet."

The thumb continued to caress along his hairline. The Doctor knew he should feel uncomfortable with the invasive touch, especially considering the man doing the touching had just been using his ribs as a kickball and could, if he wished, demand on an even worse kind of touch. But if just felt so nice.

"What do you want to be, John?" His master asked after a moment.

The Doctor's eyes fell even further and he swallowed down a lump in his throat. "Free, sir" he whispered hesitantly.

He half expected to be hit again for such a brazen, inappropriate comment. But it never came. Instead, Jancon kept the same even, calm, relaxing voice as he asked, "Is it your place to request such a thing from me?"

The Doctor's eyes jerked up so he could show his master how sincere he was when he quickly responded. "No! No, sir, it's not my place. My place is wherever you tell me it is, Master. I'm sorry I said –"

"Shh…" Jancon soothed the Doctor's frantic apologies. "You will have your freedom, John. Once you complete my Trials. That was my promise, and my word is my bond."

The Doctor bowed his head to hide the doubt in his eyes. No matter how he added it up, the odds were always against him. The virus, the drugs, the other competitors. The others had been training for months – years even – longer than he had, and although he had a strange knack for always managing to come out on top, he wasn't sure it would be enough this time. And the Doctor was not fool enough to believe that Jancon wouldn't use the virus against him during the Trail if things don't go according to plan. Not only is it a clean, blameless way to kill the one effected, but it also turns them into a mindless killer for the last few moments of their life. If another competitor needed to be taken out, the Doctor would make just as good a weapon as anyone else in that arena.

He glanced up curiously as Jancon stood, turning to the two women keeping their distance over by the couches. "Rose, why don't you help John back to the quarters." He suggested in a quiet voice and Rose didn't need to be told twice. In a matter of seconds she was across the room and kneeling next to the Doctor, one arm wrapped around his torso as she pulled him up with her. The Doctor protested to the movement with a slight groan.

"I'm fine, Rose, I can manage." He said unconvincingly.

"I don't even care." She muttered back as she pulled his arm around her neck. She turned him towards the door, away from the quietly arguing couple with more issues than any in the universe. As they entered the corridor outside, Rose turned to the Doctor again and murmured, "Oh, and if you ever call me 'Miss' like that again, I'll kick you in the ribs myself."

The Doctor breathed out a laugh, but it died quickly in the air between them. Rose just tightened her hold; half for his comfort, half for hers.


	39. Chapter 39

By the time the Doctor and Rose stumbled their way back across the estate to the servant's quarters, the Time Lord was only partially awake. Rose wasn't too concerned about it. The Doctor was exhausted, that much was obvious, and he had assured her that the pain in his chest was not nearly enough to cause him to pass out.

They crept quietly into the complex (the other servants were probably already asleep, it was well passed midnight) and carefully closed the door to the Doctor's room. "Alright…" Rose huffed, trying to sound light-hearted as she let go of the Doctor and stepped over to his dresser, opening one of the drawers. "Let's get you ready for bed."

_Crash._

Rose spun around and, after a brief moment of concern, had to fight back a laugh. The Doctor had collapsed face first into the bed, still fully clothed. "Ready." He announced, voice muffled by the pillow.

Rose bit her thumbnail to suppress a smile. "Don't you want to take a shower first?"

"Nope."

"It'll help to get the drugs out of your system."

"I'll sleep them off." He yawned.

Now Rose couldn't hold in her laugh. "Do you at least want to get changed?"

"Naw, I'm good."

The Doctor rolled over onto his side, wincing slightly, one arm wrapped under the pillow to prop his head up as he stared at Rose. "I'm sorry." He muttered after a moment of silent staring. Rose opened her mouth to tell him, quite exasperatedly, to  _stop_ apologizing, but he went on before she could form the first word. "I'm sorry I've never sung for you before."

"Doctor…"

"I've wanted to. I really, really have." His eyes were closed now. "I just – I just couldn't."

Rose could see the silver glint of another tear forming along his long eyelashes. She quickly sat down beside him on the bed, running a thumb gently along his cheekbone to wipe away the tear. "It's okay. Really. Honestly, only when you're ready." Rose couldn't completely understand the drastic importance of songs and singing in Gallifreyan culture, but something in the Doctor's voice earlier gave a hint to what the music really meant. It was something far more profound that the human appreciation for music could ever be. It meant something on a cultural scale Rose knew she would never have the ability to understand, and she didn't want the Doctor to explain it. It hurt him, to be reminded of the music, to be reminded of home.

Before she knew it she was lying down next to him, fingers still running through the short, spiky hair along his hairline. She'd hated watching Ilaria and Jancon stroking the Doctor like some pet, but he just looked so relaxed now beneath her touch that she couldn't bring herself to stop.

They were lying together in silence for a while when the Doctor gave a heavy sigh. "You look beautiful tonight."

Rose didn't say anything. She'd thought he'd fallen asleep. Maybe he was still asleep, sleep talking. His eyes were closed and his breathing deep, his features so relaxed for once and his double heartsbeat against her shoulder was slow and steady. But then he spoke again.

"You're always beautiful. Even when covered in bits of exploded Slitheen." He laughed quietly for a second and Rose found herself smiling as well. "Yeah…" He sighed again. "You're always beautiful. Remember on our way to meet Charles Dickens when we first met?"

Rose just smiled at him. "Yeah. Sort of."

The Doctor smiled sleepily.  _He is so stoned._ "That was the first time I realized how beautiful you were." He said nostalgically. Rose bit her tongue between her front teeth as she blushed. And then you put on that dress, and you were simply  _gorgeous._ You know…" He paused for a moment to yawn before smiling widely. "For a stupid little ape."

Rose nudged him playfully, laughing at the strange saying. Why would he call her some stupid little ape?

"You are so high right now." She giggled.

"Mmmh…" Was all the Doctor responded with.

Comfortable silence fell over them after that. Now she was almost positive the Doctor was asleep. His forehead rested on her shoulder, nose nuzzled into the crook between her ear and neck, one arm wrapped around her stomach like he was hugging a body pillow. Completely innocent cuddling. And Rose loved it. She tried to shift to get a little bit more comfortable, but the fabric of her dress ruffled loudly and she froze. She didn't want to wake him. The Doctor needed his rest.

"'Sort of'?"

Rose started. She looked down to see that the Doctor  _wasn't_ asleep at all. In fact, his eyes had burst wide open, filled with questioning concern.

"'Sort of'? What do you mean by 'sort of'?"

"What?" Rose asked, thoroughly confused.

The Doctor pushing himself up on an elbow, staring down at his companion with furrowed eyebrows. "You said 'sort of.' When I asked if you remembered meeting Charles Dickens, you said 'sort of'."

"No, you asked if I remember _going_ to meet Charles Dickens." Rose pointed out.

"Would your answer have been any different?" Countered the Doctor.

Rose's brow shifted as she thought. Would it have? "Does it really matter?" She finally said, sighing wearily. "It was a slip up. We're both exhausted. Just go back to sleep, Doctor."

The Time Lord hardly looked convinced, but he lowered himself back onto the pillow, still staring at Rose until it obviously became too much effort to try and keep his eyes open. It didn't take long. Not long at all. His eyes slipped shut and locked like prison doors, and then sleep was upon him, but not before he managed to mumble out an almost incoherent,

"I love you, Rose."

Rose thought she'd maybe imagined it, her hopeful imagination getting the best of her this late and night and this close to the Doctor's warm body. She pulled him closer, feeling his head nuzzle into the crook of her neck again. And as the Doctor snored softly into her shoulder, this time Rose was  _positive_ he was asleep.

* * *

Rose woke peacefully the next morning. Until she realized she was alone.

She sat upright in bed – not her bed – and looked around. She was in the Doctor's room. Yes, she remembered helping him back last night after…Rose stopped herself. She really didn't want to think about last night again. She felt an irrational blush forming in her cheeks just at the thought of how uncomfortable and screwed up that dinner had been, not to mention when Jancon came home and decided he wanted to practice his football swing on the Doctor's ribs.

She'd meant to ask him how he was feeling. She should have taken a look at them before letting him fall asleep. But the Time Lord was more exhausted then she had ever seen him, and the softness in his face once he finally got the chance to relax was like sitting in front of a fire after a long day out in the rain. Not only did she have it inside her to disturb it, but she found herself forgetting why she should.

Now she remembered with a rush of guilt. How long had she been asleep and how long ago did he leave. She glanced around the rather bare room again and noticed there was no clock. Not that the Doctor needed one. But still, it would be helpful for those silly little humans we weren't actually able to tell time just by thinking about it hard enough.

 _Stupid little apes._ Rose frowned as the saying sprang up to the forefront of her mind. She stood up and smoothed out the wrinkles in her cocktail dress.  _Stupid little apes_. That's what he'd called her, but not in the mean, condescending way those words could easily come out as, but more lovingly and humorously, as if it were some kind of joke between them. Maybe it was with a passed companion. Rose hated thinking about that. Hated the idea of  _others_ traveling around with the incredible man in his magic blue box.

But she would forgive him for that little slip. He had been exhausted and just coming down from a pretty bad submission-high with what had to be a painfully bruised side. Rose had forgiven for less.

Realizing there was really nothing else she could do alone in that room, Rose turned towards the door, vaguely wondering if it would be locked. She knew the Doctor was generally locked in at night while he slept, but did that include her? She couldn't even remember if she'd heard the lock click any time last night after they'd gotten back.

She tested the door and, not surprisingly, it swung open with ease. For some reason she didn't feel any better about it. Another day of dealing with  _Ilaria._ That woman and her flippant, frivolous attitude towards almost everything and everyone around her was  _really_ starting to grate on Rose's nerves, and last night's 'adventures' had done nothing to put her back in Rose's favor.

She just wanted to stay with the Doctor again, but he would be in training again for the next couple of hours, at least, before being sent off to the labs. And speaking of which, Rose thought with a sigh, Jancon now knew the formula was ready, so who knew if the Doctor would even be given that break from training anymore. As happy as she was that the Doctor was no longer slaving over the chemicals and Bunsen burners, it was the only time they were given to see each other. What if that was over now, too?

 _Okay, so obviously I'll still be able to_ see  _him,_ Rose thought to herself with a small eye roll as she opened the door out to the servant's yard just in time to see the Doctor and his trainer –  _what was his name? Ammacus?_ – appearing from the trailhead just behind the complex. They were both bare-chested, wearing only black track pants and the first pair of shoes Rose had seen on the Doctor since they'd been captured. Rose found herself staring rather obviously at the Doctor's shirtless chest, muscles beautifully defined along his slim torso, glistening slightly with sweat, until her eyes fell on a thick, darkened splotch just above his abdomen. The black and blue skin stood out brilliantly against the pale coloring of the rest of his body and made Rose want desperately to look away even though she couldn't quite make herself.

The two men slowed down their fast jogging pace until they eventually came to a walk by the time they reached the yard. The Doctor stumbled slightly as he changed speed, one hand instantly going to his side as he breathed heavily. But even as he grimaced in obvious pain, he still managed to look up at Rose and smile through it. He even threw in a wink for good measure.

Ammacus must have noticed this trainee's distress, for he turned around and offered the Time Lord a sympathetic look. "Still hurting?" Even from across the yard, Rose could hear the words through the quiet morning air. Nevertheless, she found her feet moving towards the pair anyway.

The Doctor glanced up at him. "No, I just love myself so much I can't keep my hands off me." He replied with a small, cheeky grin. To Rose's relief, Ammacus laughed. The Doctor peered over the trainer's shoulder and, upon seeing Rose approaching, smiled even wider. "Speaking of love…"

"Morning." Rose greeted cheerily, trying to block out the blush rising at his words.

Ammacus looked startled by her appearance, but quickly schooled his expression into a careful mask. Rose had to remind herself that even her position was above this man's in the estate. He was still considered a slave along with the Doctor.

"Good morning." He said formally. "Miss Rose, I presume?"

Rose frowned at how formal he was being and was about to open her mouth to respond when the Doctor's voice broke through instead. "Don't. Don't call her that." Both Rose and Ammacus turned confused eyes on the Doctor. "The 'miss' part." He clarified. "I'm pretty sure she threatened to beat the crap out of me, too, last night if I ever called her that again."

"And I was being serious." Rose intoned playfully as she realized what he was referring to. But it didn't matter anymore. The Doctor had closed the space between them and was standing wonderfully close now. She could smell the sweat on his skin, but somehow it smelled sweet and sensational, so very much like  _him_  that she didn't mind even a little bit. He ran a hand lovingly along her cheek, brushing her bangs out of her eyes as he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead.

"Sleep well?" He asked.

Rose nodded and hummed an affirmation. "How you feeling?" Was the more pressing question.

The Doctor shrugged. "Better. Thanks for last night, by the way." His tone got serious very quickly. "I'm sorry I was so – "

"You got to stop apologizing." Rose interrupted. "Seriously, it's getting ridiculous."

The Doctor smiled in response and brushed another strand of hair behind her ear. She liked the way he was looking at her, like she was the only thing he had left in the entire universe. A lump suddenly formed at the base of her throat as she realized she kind of  _was._

The Doctor didn't seem to notice her sudden nausea as he glanced down at his own body and winced. He took a quick step back, but not far enough to have to remove his hand from cupping the side of her head. "Gah, I'm sorry. I'm  _covered_ in sweat. That's disgusting."

Rose just shrugged, happy to be thinking of something else than her most recent realization. "Eh, whatever I can do to ruin this dress"  _and any memory of last night's event that comes with it_ "is welcome and encouraged."

"Oh, well, in that case," The Doctor slipped closer to her, lowering his voice into a seductive whisper as he brought his lips towards her ear. "I know a quick, fun way to rip it up a bit."

Rose felt her breath quicken, heart hammering in her chest as she realized just how  _close_ the Doctor was standing, the front of his body pressed full against her's. The cool morning air suddenly felt much, much warmer. She didn't know if she should step away while she still could or let herself get engulfed in the smell of his skin, in the feel of his hair, in the touch of his fingers and lips…Her eyes drifted upwards towards his and was almost startled to see how intently he was watching her.

"Interesting…" He muttered as he took in whatever look was on Rose's face. Even she couldn't tell what it was. Lust? Desire? Hesitance? Fear?

"Ahem."

Rose and the Doctor broke away, the former appearing much more flustered than the other as they turned to look at Ammacus. Rose blushed in embarrassment as she remembered they weren't alone in the yard, but apparently that's not what the trainer had been trying to get their attention about. Ammacus jerked his head slightly to the right and both Rose and the Doctor seemed to simultaneously deflate as they followed his gaze to see Jancon striding across the lawn.

The Doctor took another step away, instantly falling into a submissive pose as his 'master' got closer. Rose was glad to notice he didn't fall to his knees instantly like he had last night, but she still didn't like the way his hands automatically clasped behind his back and his head bowed down. Rose turned to half glare at the man as he approached the group.

"John," He said emotionlessly in place of an actual greeting. "Go to the showers and then report to me at the laboratory."

The Doctor dipped his head a little further in acknowledgment. "Master." He left immediately, one finger discretely sweeping across the small of Rose's back as he passed her on his way back to the quarters, sending a slight shiver up the human's spine.

With the Doctor gone, Rose turned her attention to Ammacus, who was also standing at attention in front of Jancon. She noticed he stood more like a warrior before his commanding officer, not like a slave before his Master as Rose and the Doctor had been taught. He must not have come from Eyal.

"How is he?" Jancon asked in a quiet voice that didn't quite hide his surprisingly genuine concern. Was he feeling guilty for last night? Rose almost scoffed. As much as he  _should_ be, she highly doubted that was the case.

Ammacus seemed to be of the same opinion as her as he looked his owner straight in the eye and said, so casually that it almost completely gave away what he really meant, "In pain, but he will be better soon. I've noticed he has impressive healing abilities."

Jancon nodded in agreement. "Thankfully. That will be enough of his training for today. We'll allow him to rest for a time before continuing as usual tomorrow. The Trial starts in only three days, I want him in top shape."

Ammacus dipped his head. "Yes, Dominus."

Finally Jancon seemed to notice Rose was still standing there. "Miss Rose," He began, and Rose had to hold in the sudden scowl she felt rising every time someone called her that now. "I believe Ilaria is awaiting you. Something about…shopping? Or a fitting? Whichever it may be, I'm sure it includes spending even more of my money, so, naturally, you must not delay." He said the words with the sarcastic yet defeated tone Rose had heard from many husbands back home, and she would have laughed if the image of the man's foot slamming into the Doctor's side didn't keep rising up behind her eyes. She didn't give him the pleasure of the same respectful head dip both the Doctor and Ammacus had given upon his orders, and instead just turned around and stalked away, grabbing the skirts of her dress roughly so she didn't trip over them on her way back across the lawns.

* * *

And so it was with wet hair, a new shirt, and a hesitant step that the Doctor made his way back to the lab that morning. This was the second day in a row his routine had been changed, and even though the Doctor now knew the reason why, it did nothing to ease the anxiety creeping up his spine the closer he got to the laboratory.

Jancon was going to make him test the formula. Which really wasn't that big of a deal when the Doctor thought about it on the surface. He knew his lord and master would want to see the virus in action before allowing it to be used in the Trial. It was more of the fact that, once Jancon agrees that it works and sends the creation off to his contact supplying the competitor tags, it will all be real. It will really be happening, and the Doctor would really be competing in a race to the death, one in which he would be personally responsible for each and every death in that arena.

Just another two dozen or so souls to help paint his hands red.

His fingers twitched towards the new pale scar on his left forearm. The bandage had been removed two days earlier, but the stitches holding the sliced skin together had remained as a precaution until about ten minutes ago. The skin had knitted back together well enough, covering the small patched of raised skin where beneath sat the only form of redemption the Doctor had left. It itched with anticipation, as if it knew the enormity of its purpose and the stress was tangible. He ran a single finger over it, feeling the raised bump, wondering if his gamble would even pay off in the end.

There was no guard posted outside the door this time, so the Doctor just walked in on his own. The slightly slopping halls had become so familiar to the Doctor by now that he could navigate them in the dark. Half of the time he had to, in fact, after so many nights not leaving the lab until well into the morning. Fortunately the hall was brightly lit now, no doubt because of Jancon's presence.

He passed the gym, which had been abandoned for the day as Ammacus had already informed him of his day off (just another schedule change that gave the Doctor an uneasy feeling), and made his way directly towards the lab.

The Doctor stopped in the doorway, surprised into a standstill. Four people were waiting for him inside the laboratory, two sitting, two standing, and – no, wait, five people. One was kneeling just behind the chair occupied by Jancon. The Doctor hadn't even noticed the slave at first look, but he supposed that was the point. He took in the sight of the thin boy – he couldn't have been older than fifteen in human years – with his dark skin and silver hair concealing his downturned face. He didn't recognize the boy, he certainly wasn't from the estate.

Perhaps he belonged to the stranger sitting across from Jancon. This man was clearly not a slave, for her wore a nice, expensive suit and sat back in his seat with the casual air of one accustom to being waited on. He had the same charcoal skin and silver hair as Jancon and Ilaria and must have been from their home planet. An old family friend? Perhaps a relative? Whoever he was, the Doctor couldn't quite place what he and the slave were doing down there.

The other three people were easily identifiable. One, obviously, was Jancon, and the two men standing were part of the usual guards the Doctor had seen around the estate. One stood near him by the door as if guarding it while the other stood at attention against the wall closest to Jancon and his guests.

Disliking the look the closest guard kept shooting at him, the Doctor stepped into the room, clearing his throat quietly to get Jancon's attention before bowing his head. "Master." He said in an echo of what he had earlier, not knowing what else to say in this situation. He was far too sober – if being off those drugs counted as sobriety – to deal with decorum around his master's guests. He needed to tread carefully, as his throbbing ribs kept reminding him.

"Ah, John!" Jancon stood from the chair and strode over to his slave, thoroughly ignoring the new one still kneeling, despondently, on the floor. The Doctor suppressed the urge to flinch as Jancon's hands fell on his shoulders, clasping them like an excited friend. "How are you doing today, my boy?"

"I'm fine, sir." He answered politely but made the obvious point of looking Jancon in the eye as he said it. From that, the clearest understand of his words was evidently reached.  _No, I'm not fine, and you know why. Don't play that game with me. I won't play along anymore._

Chair legs squeaked across the tiled floor as the other man stood. "Ah, so this is the famous John Smith of Gallifrey!" The man moved swiftly across the room, hand held out as he smiled brightly at the Time Lord. The Doctor glanced momentarily over at Jancon before taking the offered hand, allowing the man to shake it vigorously. His smile never wavered and so the Doctor forced one onto his own lips, although it still felt as fake as it was.

"Yes, sir. Although I'm not sure about the 'famous' bit." He opted for politeness and humility again, knowing Jancon would want him on his best behavior in from of his new guest and didn't wish to give him any reason to demand the drug. The Doctor needed the sharpest mind right now, more than any other time so far.

The man waved his hand through the air as it to physically swipe away the Doctor's words. "Nonsense, boy. You are the mind behind this lunatic's drunken schemes." He motioned towards Jancon so casually with a soft chortle. "You are the genius who's going to make my tags legendary."

And now the Doctor understood. This was the man in charge of providing the competitor tags for the Trial. This was the man who would be putting the Doctor's destruction into action.

"Grydon," Jancon chuckled. "Be careful, lest my slave begin to think himself worth something." He laughed good-heartedly as he clasped a hand on the Doctor's shoulder in a brotherly grasp. The Doctor fought back the urge to flinch away, both at the touch as much as at the words.

The strange boy was still kneeling on the floor, seemingly oblivious to them all.

"I understand just enough about science to know never to mess with the methodical madness of a scientist's lab." Jancon was speaking again. "So we chose to wait for you to direct us to your finished formula."

The Doctor nodded, knowing he wasn't expected to speak. He was glad Jancon had offered him even that much privacy. He would very much rather his master didn't come across the Memory Stones intended for Rose. That would make matters far more complicated than they already were.

He had stored the virus in one of the refrigerated drawers. He pulled the two small, clear vials out. Two was all they needed to stock all the competitor's tags. Two was all they needed to cause the horrific deaths of at least two dozen innocent beings.

The extra tags he'd been provided with sat empty in the fridge. He pulled them out along with another vial filled with his own orange blood. This would suffice for an example since he had no other blood supply…unless he asked for a sample from Jancon, the symbolism enough to make his smirk to himself, in which case he was sure another broken rib would be the least of his worries.

He began to move towards the microscopes, ready to prepare a petri dish of blood and death for their viewing pleasure, when Jancon held out a hand.

"That won't be necessary, John. You may pass the formula to Grydon."

Uncertain and feeling increasingly uneasy, he handed the supplies over to the man. He hadn't counted on an expert being present for the testing, and even though this Grydon was an engineer, not a scientist, there was no telling how much this man might know about viruses and chemical warfare.

The chip in his arm, inconveniently, began to itch again. He tried to ignore it, not wanting to draw attention to the still healing skin below his elbow. Instead, his eyes fell afresh on the boy still on the floor. Fourteen years old, desperately thin, and – the Doctor forced the sudden lump in his throat down – wearing an uncomfortable looking metal collar around his fragile neck.

"And who's this?" He found himself asking, needing  _someone_ to address the fact that the boy was actually there an not some messed up figment of his imagination. He knelt down in from of the boy, flashing him what he hoped was a convincingly warm smile. The boy finally raised his eyes, knowing it was a fellow slave he risked making eye contact with. The Doctor wished he hadn't. The boy's eyes were dull and dead, like there was nothing left worth seeing.

"He has no name." Jancon responded so casually he might as well not have been listening. Grydon was now busy expertly filling in the delicate capsule with the virus mixture, all attention primed and focused.

The Doctor offered the boy an understanding look which he think went ignored, or maybe completely unseen. He reached out to grasp the boy's bony arm in a comforting grip. Not only did the boy not flinch, but he didn't even seem to notice the touch. His eyes betrayed nothing. Dead and despondent.

"Were you called anything before?" He asked in a quiet voice, not needing to clarify what he meant by 'before'.

"He cannot speak, John." Jancon cut in in the same tone as before. "He bit off his own tongue not long ago. Something about an electrical training accident." The Doctor's grip tightened around the boy's arm in anger. He knew _exactly_ what 'electrical training' meant. Now the boy did seem to notice the Doctor's touch, squirming slightly in discomfort as if he could sense the Time Lord's anger and incorrectly assumed it was aimed at him.

Grydon suddenly made a low, disbelieving scoff. "Well, I hope you got a discount on the boy, then. Can't imagine he'd have been an easy sell."

"Oh, yes, I basically stole him from the facility. Eyal was more than happy I was taking him off their hands."

The Doctor was thoroughly disgusted by now. His fingers, shaking only slightly, moved down the boy's arm until he reached his hand, gently rolling it over so he could see the inside of his wrist. Familiar black symbols stared back at him. MD196310. Only 5 numbers from the Doctor's own identification number. They had probably been in Eyal at the same time. He hadn't been able to help the boy. If the Doctor had only been stronger, only been smarter and faster, the boy might not only have been free by then, but could still have the use of his voice. The Doctor had to drop the boy's hand before his skin began to burn form guilt.

The Doctor couldn't seem to be able to look up from his own trembling hands in his lap. "And what  _did_ you purchase him for, Master?" He tried to ask politely as he felt the venom of fury burning through him.

"To help you." Was Jancon's useless answer. The Doctor frowned.

"I don't understand, Master. I already completed the virus, I don't need a lab assistant."

Jancon finally deemed the Doctor worthy enough for a quick glance. "John, he's not here to help you in the development of the virus. He's here to help in the  _testing_ of it."

Red. That was all the Doctor saw as he flew to his feet. He didn't even care that the boy practically fell backwards in surprised fear. " _No_." He growled before he could stop himself. " _Absolutely not_."

Both men stopped what they were doing to stare at him in disbelief. The Doctor didn't even know, but he had taken up a fighting stance, feet spread a little wider than a shoulder's width apart, arms slightly raised, body poised to pounce like a dangerous jungle cat.

"I beg your pardon?" Jancon asked slowly as if he didn't believe what he'd just heard.

"I'm not letting you use this  _child_ as a lab rat for my virus!" The Doctor practically spat back.

Jancon raised his gray eyebrows. "I think this  _slave_ is a perfect test subject for the formula. Look at him." He motioned towards the boy who was acting as if they weren't talking about his own fate right above him. "Mute, practically comatose –"

"Because they  _ **tortured**_ him to the point of biting off his own tongue!"

"It's not as if this boy would ever be useful for anything else in his life."

"Except to die?! He's innocent!"

"As are you, John,"

Jancon's voice was deathly quiet now, and for some reason the Doctor felt his jaw snap shut, unable to throw any more words into the suffocating silence between them. Innocent. He had been far from innocent. So very, very far.

Jancon continued after an agonizing second. "But don't believe for a second that I will hesitate in ending you in that arena any more than I hesitate now with this. You may be my competitor, my property, but that is all you are, and  _he_ is even less."

The Doctor was seething. The boy did nothing. The Doctor wondered for a moment if he was deaf as well.

"I will not kill his boy just for the sake of protecting your pride and greed."

"That's all well and fine, John, because  _you're_ not going to do it. Did you really think I would allow you anywhere near this formula during testing? You are clever, John, but you are too clever. And a slave should never be too clever for their own good. Don't think it hasn't crossed my mind that you would find a way to sabotage my strategy. I know your morals all too well by now, you can thank your Rose for that. Chain him to the table."

For a frantic second the Doctor thought Jancon was talking about him. He saw the guard step forward, chain dangling from his hand. He took a quick step backwards, throat admitting a strange animalistic growl of warning, only to discover the guard was reaching for the boy instead. His calloused fingers wrapped around a loop on the back of he metal collar and tugged, dragging the boy backwards towards one of the lab tables. The boy choked, hands flying to his neck in the first sign of awareness he'd made all day. His legs scrambled and kicked as he was pulled by the neck for a few feet before the guard got to work weaving the chain through the loop.

The Doctor launched himself forward. He reached for the guard, not knowing what he would do one he got a hold of him. But sudden pain exploded through his leg. He shouted out as he dropped to the floor, writhing and kicking out with his ankle as if to kick the pain away, but it wouldn't come off. The anklet never came off. His back arched off the ground as the electricity continued to pulse through him. His jaw snapped together, teeth landing on his tongue. He could taste blood and metal.

Finally Jancon released his hold on the trigger and the Doctor slumped to the ground, groaning and panting. A string of orange-tinted saliva hung from his lips and he quickly spit it aside, grimacing at the metallic taste. "Him, too." He heard through the buzzing in his ears, and next thing he knew he was being grabbed from behind by the second guard.

He hauled him up by the armpits, dragging his limp body to the lab table opposite the boy's. The Doctor tried to fight off the hands, to scramble back to his feet, but another shock slammed through him. This one was short, but it was enough to knock him back off his feet. He landed heavily against the leg of the table, which the guard wasted no time in attaching his wrist to with a pair of handcuffs.

The other guard had finished chaining the boy up like a dog and stepped back. The boy was staring at the Doctor in horror and the Time Lord couldn't tell if it was from fear of what was about to happen or fear of what had just happened. The boy had once been electrocuted to the point of biting off his own tongue. That sight could not have been settling for him to see.

"Are you ready, Grydon?"

"Just calibrating the gun. Should be….yes, there it is. Ready."

Grydon took a step closer to the boy, who flinched away, hyper aware of what was going on around him now. The man just grabbed a fistful of the boy's gray hair and jerked his head carelessly to the side. An involuntary croak of pain came from the boy. Tears were in his eyes. The Doctor thought there might be some in his own. Everything was turning blurry, hazy, smeared and smudged with rage and fear.

"Please." He found himself gasping, staring up at Jancon. " _Please,_  don't do this. He's just a child. Just a child…" He felt a sob bubbling up inside him and tried to choke it down. "Master, please."

"Continue, Grydon." Jancon ordered as if the Doctor wasn't even in the room. Grydon pressed the nuzzle of the tag gun against the exposed flesh on the boy's neck, just above where the metal collar chaffed his skin. The boy's eyes were wide with terror. He didn't know what was going on, how could he? How could he know what the tag would do to him? How could he know he was about to experience a violent, painful death for no viable reason? A death most people wouldn't even allow their pets to suffer.

The chip in the Doctor's arm positively  _burned_ under his skin. It was agony. Imaginary agony, that what could save the boy was so close. But he couldn't use it. The Doctor felt a stab to his heart and he found himself doing the math. One life now, two dozen or more saved later.

"Please." He was saying again, tugging against the cuff on his right wrist. "Use me. Test it on me. Please."

And then suddenly everything was far too familiar. The feeling of being chained to a pole, wrist chaffing against a metal cuff. Some innocent someone sitting in front of him, terrified into silence, eyes wide and staring as the predator bore down on them. The Doctor begging to do it instead, to take their place, to keep them safe. But no matter how he begged and shouted and struggled, the handcuff cut into his wrist just as sharply as it had in that jail cell as Rat-Face took his revenge against the Doctor for some sadist's death, taking it out on Rose. And now some sadist was taking his pride out on yet another innocent soul, and the Doctor was just as helpless, just as useless, just as worthless.

The sound of the tag gun going off was like a bullet through he Doctor's chest. But it was nothing compared to the mirthless laugh that followed it. "Test the virus on you? What would be the point of that, John? I still need you to compete."

The Doctor glared up at the man. His eyes were dark now, black with clouds of fury. "I won't." He spat. "I won't do it. I'll stand on the start line and allow the other competitors to rip me apart if I have to. You won't get me to cooperate anymore, Jancon."

Jancon just shrugged. "That's really too bad, John. I suppose if you refuse to compete I'll just have to keep testing out the virus to ensure it will still do its work for me without you. And who knows, maybe my next test subject will be that beautiful wilting flower you brought into this life. Rose would make a rather attractive corpse, don't you think?"

The snarl that escaped the Doctor's barred teeth fell on deaf ears as the monster who owned him turned once more to his companion. "Alright, so how does this work?" He asked as casually as if they were discussing how a microwave works. Grydon, for his part, did well at pretending nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

"I believe this remote here will emit a light as soon as a tag is activated. And…yes, there it is." He announced as he pressed a different button on the tag gun to activate the tag beneath the boy's skin. "Then once it's on, the tags identification number will go up on the screen here. Then it looks like you just select the number you want and press  _this_ button." His meaty finger hovered over the launch button and the Doctor felt his hearts stop beating all together. "Ready?"

Jancon flashed him an excited smile. "Let's begin!"


	40. Chapter 40

The guards waited until the echoing footsteps of the two overly excited businessmen drifted into silence before unlocking the Doctor's cuff. The metal ring fell away more red than silver as the Doctor hand landed limply at his side. Subconsciously, he pulled it to his chest, cradling his bleeding, shredded wrist as he stared, trance-like, at a random tile on the floor. The guard stood over him for a moment longer, shifting uneasily, one finger hovering over the button of the little silver remote they'd been granted, just in case.

If they expected the Time Lord to do anything rash or sudden, they were sorely mistaken. Over the last ten minutes they had been far too liberal with the use of the remote, electrocuting the older slave at least nine times as every sound and movement from him was interpreted as disobedience. Eventually, he stopped pleading with his master, stopped tugging at the handcuff, stopped desperately trying to reach the writhing boy. Stopped doing anything, really.

Finally they left, shutting the door behind them, exchanging quick concerns about whether they "broke it" and if the Prebassador would be angry. Best to let it come back to its senses before doing anything else.

The Doctor barely even acknowledged their absence. Thoughts that should have flitted quickly and fluidly across his mind now felt like rivers of molasses, thick and congealed. And he couldn't tell which shock had caused it: the electrocution, or the sight of that innocent boy choking on his own vomit while the flash-fever boiled his brain from the inside.

A flinch shook him out of his reverie, forcing the glaze off his eyes. Using the edge of the table he'd been cuffed to, the Doctor pulled himself to his feet. His knees shook slightly, and his right leg with the anklet felt swollen and tender around the metal ring, but he shuffled nonetheless around the side of the counter and riffled through one of the top drawers. As ever, his eyes stayed on task, refusing to drift.

He pulled a syringe out of the drawer, followed by a dished microscope slide and a clean rag. Then he forced himself to kneel beside the small, immobile body. He built a quick dam around his river of molasses thoughts and wiped his mind clear of everything else, only leaving room for habitual action. His fingers trailed up the boy's arm. Blood dripped from the crescent-shaped cuts dug into the palm of the boy's hand, nails caked with bits of reddened skin tissue where they'd bitten too far into his own flesh. The dam became a battlement at the sight, keeping the river in and the threatening new images out. The Doctor let his fingers do the thinking as they found the crook of the boy's elbow, slipped the needle beneath the ashen skin, and withdrew a syringe-worth of blood.

The Doctor released a few drops of the blood onto the dished slide and placed it beneath the microscope. The room was deadly silent as he switched on the light and peered through the lenses, eyelashes brushing the glass. Deadly silent. Neither occupant of the room breathed – one still not able, and the other no longer needing to.

Blindly, the Doctor reached for his left arm, fingering up to the square scar along its underside. Without removing his gaze from the slide, the Doctor pressed down on the raised skin. Heat pulsed from the device beneath his skin for a moment before cooling again, informing him the signal had been sent.

The Doctor watched. His stony expression never changed, the mask he'd slipped on somewhere around the seventh or eighth electrocution never wavering as he observed the cells dancing around in their little dish. Finally he looked away, sighing resolutely as he rubbed a hand over his eyes, massaging his brow as his eyes remained screwed shut.

"I could have saved you."

His announcement received no reply.

At last he forced himself to glance down at the boy. And once he did he couldn't look away.

"I'm sorry." He choked out. "I am so, so sorry."

He slid down the side of the counter, legs no longer feeling the need to hold him up. Instead, the Doctor crawled the short expanse to the boy's side, eyes scanning him, taking in every detail down to his shredded little hand. He felt the sudden strong urge to hold that hand, to turn it so you couldn't see the blood and only the unmarred skin on its back, to place it on the boy's chest as if he were just sleeping.

The boy was tiny. So much smaller now than he had seemed before, looking all the more like the child he was. Placing the hand on his chest didn't help though. He'd never seen anything look as far from peaceful as the boy in front of him. Foamy drool still leaked out from between the boy's slightly parted lips, pooling on the floor, tinged slightly with red. Sweat was drying on his forehead from the flash-fever. The Doctor designed the drug to act fast, to get the horror over with; but watching it happen right in front of him, the Doctor realized the speed did nothing to ease the amount of pain the virus put you through before the throat closes off and the fever finally takes you away.

The Doctor grabbed the rag from the table above them and gently wiped the sweat and foam away. He then used a pair of bolt tongs usually used to bend and mold chemistry set riggings to snip through the thin chain connected to the boy's collar. Here, the Doctor's mask fell and he grimaced and almost had to look away. There was no skin left on the boy's neck. He had struggled so passionately against the collar during the height of his virus-induced panic that the metal had simply sheered the skin off. So desperate was the boy's sudden need to launch himself at the other members in the room, so wild where his eyes, so deadly were his raking nails clawing at the thin air two feet from Jancon's fascinated face that the boy hadn't even noticed the pain he was putting himself through.

The Doctor winced. It was time, once again, to stop thinking about that. About everything. The battlements became a fortress as he pushed himself back to the opposite counter, leaning his shoulders against its side as his arm wrapped automatically around his chest, compressing his sore and bruised ribs.

He sat there for what could have been hours, but his mind supplied that it had only been twenty minutes. The door was unlocked. He could have left at any time. He had no where he needed to be. No training exercises, no lab duty, no virus to perfect. But he couldn't leave. He sat with the boy, even though his presence went unnoticed by those vacant, milky eyes. He couldn't leave him, not until the guards or servants or whoever else would come to claim the body arrived.

Until then, he stared at the boy's childish face from where he sat and didn't try to imagine it full of life and dressed in a smile. He didn't think about the what the boy could have done, what he could have been. He didn't think about what the virus would be used for and what evil he'd unleashed into the universe yet again. He didn't think about any of this no matter how strongly the thoughts battered against the fortress walls.

Instead, he thought about Trail tactics and avoidance maneuvers and offense and defense and survival skills and combat training until the door slid open and the guards returned to take the battered body away.

* * *

"I do love to garden."

Ilaria hummed as she snipped away a wayward leaf from the bright red plant before her. She tilted her head to the side, a strand of purple hair slipping from behind her ear as she observed the flower. "It may seem mundane and lower-class, but it relaxes me. Soothes my stress. Reminds me that I have control over the life of the foliage, that it is my duty to care for it lest the plants become neglected and die." She snipped away another stray leaf. "Do you garden, Rose?"

The question was simply one more in a long line of unrequited conversation attempts. The Prebassador's wife glanced over her shoulder at the human lounging in a sun-chair. Her aquamarine dress was folded up to her knees – a vulgar human habit, it appeared – to give her legs more sun as she turned the page of the book she'd been immersed in. So immersed, in fact, that the girl had said nothing all morning, not responded to any of Ilaria's attempts to ignite even the most pathetic excuse of a conversation.

She didn't even attempt to conceal the disappointed sigh that escaped her lips. She went back to preening the bushes, but the silence didn't favor her. Ilaria never liked silence, preferring to instead surround herself with parties and people and pets. Rose would never make a suitable pet. She was far too moody and temperental. Not to mention it was illegal, anyway, to keep a human collared and leashed. But John…

John would have looked quite lovely with a diamond-studded collar around that slim neck of his.

Speaking of the slave, Ilaria glanced up in time to see two guards leaving her husband's science chamber, carrying a bundle hidden beneath a sheet between them. A dozen paces behind was John, hands shoved deep in his pockets, brow scrunched in thought as he broke away from following the guards and began a slow, contemplative walk across the grounds. A rustle of paper behind her back told her Rose had noticed him as well. It was as if the human had a sixth scent when it came to her mate. Perhaps that was an evolutionary trait among all of humankind.

Suddenly Ilaria was gripped by a pressing urge to justify her actions from the night before. How odd. She had never felt the need to explain herself to anyone before; not to Jancon, not to her selfish, overbearing mother…

She snipped away another leaf, perhaps a little too forcefully.

"Rose," She started off quietly, a tint of seriousness plaguing her voice that she cared very little for. "I understand you are upset with me and don't wish to engage in any form of communication; and yet," Ilaria sighed deeply as she chose her words. "I must make myself clear. Employing John as my server last night had no vindictive motives behind it. I did not intend for events to escalate as they did, or for my  _dear_ ," She sneered the word as she sheared off an entire limb of the bush before her. "- Husband to react in the manner in which he did. John was in my care, my personal slave for that time being, and I should have protected him. And I apologize for the brutality I brought upon him."

She glanced over her shoulder just long enough to see that Rose's eyes had stopped moving across the page. The knuckles holding the edge of the book where white and her head was tilted ever-so slightly towards Ilaria, ears taking in everything her posture tried to make look like she wasn't. A smirk played across Ilaria's face for only a fraction of a second. At least she knew how to get the human's attention.

"As I was saying before," Ilaria went on, trying to add a more chipper tone to her words. "When something is entrusted in my care, it is my obligation and responsibility as its caretaker to protect and provide for its needs. Something I wish to offer John wholeheartedly." She paused and puffed up the plant, making the flowers show vibrantly against the attentively sculpted leafs. "There! Much better, isn't it?" She asked brightly and moved as if to present the plant to Rose.

She had not expected to turn around and see the book laid flat along the girl's lap, or to see Rose looking up at her with a furrowed glare.

"So…so what you're saying," Rose began as if trying to wrap her head around a large, difficult math equation. "Is that you want to keep John as your… _pet_ …so you can  _protect_ him?" She gave a soft snort of laughter as she let herself fall back against the fabric of the sun chair. "Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your  _pet_ is about to be shipped off to a battle to the death in three days time. How's  _that_ for protection, hmm? Because I've got to say, between that and last night's 'events', you're really doing one hell of a job keeping what's in your care  _safe_."

Rose stood suddenly, letting the book fall unceremoniously to the ground at her feet. She gave a mocking curtsey. "Your flowers look lovely, Mistress. May I be of any more assistance?" She didn't wait for a response to her sarcastic comments, however, as she spun around and began to march down the steps from the garden terrace towards the lawns, aqua-colored skirts swirling around her ankles like angry sea waves.

* * *

Rose resisted the urge to scoff indignantly like some teenager. She'd already stormed away in an angry huff, there was no need to add to her juvenile act.  _Very mature, Miss Tyler._ She shook her head as she continued her quick pace across the lawns.

As pathetic and childish as her storming away was, she just couldn't  _stand_ to listen to that woman for a second longer. The woman who tried to justify turning someone into a slave, forcing them to kneel at her feet, serve her, _sing to her_ when it was  _clear_ it hurt him more than any shock or whip possibly could. And she was apologizing for 'events escalating as they did'? No. The only apology Rose would be accepting any time soon is the one that comes after the Doctor's chains are broken and they are free once again.

But with every passing hour that day begins to feel more and more like just another childish fantasy.

Three days - well, two and a half now that the sun had finally passed over the center of the sky – were all they had left together before the Doctor would be sent off to fight in a rich-man's meaningless war against boredom. And Rose was scared. She was honestly petrified, no matter what face she put on around the Doctor. Because she knew him. She knew the Time Lord was the strongest, smartest, and bravest creature in the whole of the universe. But he was also the kindest, gentlest, most compassionate being Rose had even encountered, despite his dark and difficult past. The Doctor had gotten them out of a lot of sticky situations before, performed feats of daring and tenacity that saved their skin more times than Rose could recall. But killing?

It wasn't him. It wasn't the Doctor. Once upon a time it may have been, but not anymore. She knew he could and she knew he would, but even if he proves to be faster and luckier than the rest of the sorry sods trapped in that arena as well – most of whom Rose is sure would not even blink in hesitance at the idea of killing anyone for the possibility of freedom – what next? If he makes it out of there, he won't be the Doctor. Not her Doctor. Not the Doctor she saved, who grabbed her hand and told her to run, and who held onto it as if his very life depended on her presence every day.

The Doctor will not survive in the arena. In one way or another.

She found him on one of the hills that rolled the grass around them into knolls. He was laying against one of the mounds, staring up at the impossibly blue sky with his hands folded beneath his head like a pillow. Rose sauntered over.

"Share a plot in paradise?"

His eyes shifted over to her, but the rest of him remained motionless. "Sure," He responded. "Once you find it."

"Oh, I don't know." Rose breathed out as she collapsed beside him, not caring even in the slightest if the dress Ilaria lent her go grass stains. She stared down at the Doctor. "View's not so bad right here, so why not?"

The Doctor gave her a weary smile that caused the laugher-lines around his eyes that she so desperately loved to stand out in full force. "Quite right." He agreed after a moment, eyes never leaving his companions face.

Rose eased herself down to lie beside him, settling her head on his outstretched arm. Together, they stared up at the sky, neither saying a word for a good long while and just watching. Rose could hear the  _thump-thump-thump-thump_ of his hearts and she wondered if he could hear hers as well.

It was a gorgeous day despite Rose's stormy mood. The air was hot, but the breeze was cold and the grass just damp enough to cool her skin. She breathed in deeply through her nose, trying to savor the rare moment of peace.

Her nose crinkled. She sniffed again. She rolled over onto her side, facing the Doctor, eyes still closed, and sniffed a third time.

"Hmm?" The Doctor asked without opening his own eyes. Rose just moved closer and sniffed the tips of the Time Lord's hair before making a face.

"Did you set your hair on fire?"

The Doctor actually cringed at the question. "Uhhhhh…." He dragged the sound out for a while before finally finishing, "Not exactly…"

Rose propped herself up on an elbow. "How do you 'not exactly' set your hair on fire?  _Again,_ I might add." She had to hold back the snicker that threatened to arise as she remembered the last time the Doctor got a little too excited about the local wildlife of a strange planet. Apparently some butterflies in the universe like to breath fire.

The Doctor shifted as well so he could turn and face her without the sun glaring into his eyes. Whatever statement he was about to make, however, was instantly cut off as his right arm came into view.

"Oh my God." Rose blurted out as she grabbed the Doctor's bloody, swollen wrist. He winced and gave a small gasp as the skin pulled and fresh blood began to ooze out of the wound. "What the hell happened this time?" Rose demanded.

(The fact that she even had to include the words 'this time' made her stomach feel sick.)

"It's nothing." The Doctor went to pull his wrist out of her grasp. When she just held on tighter, determined to check the entire injury over, the Doctor groan in exasperation. "Seriously, Rose, it's nothing to worry about. The testing just got a little…heated."

At that, Rose dropped his wrist. "Heated." She repeated as her eyes darted to his ankle. "And exactly how many times were you electrocuted during this  _heated_ testing session? Enough to char the tips of you hair?"

The stormy mood was back. So much for their little plot in paradise. The Doctor couldn't even go half a day without getting himself injured or tortured, and Rose couldn't go half a day without worrying her hair gray over it.

With a relinquishing sigh, the Time Lord's eyes fell to his lap, fingers absentmindedly pulling clumps of grass from the ground by their roots. Rose waited rather impatiently for his answer.

"Yes, you're right." He finally admitted. "Things didn't go as…smoothly as I would have liked them to during the virus test. But what  _matters_ – what we  _should_ be taking away from this," The Doctor switched into the tone she recognized as the one he used to try and convince himself of his own words, "is that  _this_ works exactly as intended." He tapped the inside of his left arm where the scar had turned into four pale, pink lines.

"No one is going to fall victim to this madman's plot." The Doctor continued with enough conviction that he almost actually had Rose convinced of his own belief in it.

"Not even you."

Rose quietly voiced the concern they had both refused to express until now. Yes, the tiny, microscopic monitor on the chip inside the Doctor's arm would alert him whenever a tag is activated and the virus released, but what if it happened to him? What was the lag between the activation of the virus and the gentle buzz of the alert system? How quickly would the virus attack his mind? Would he even have time to notice and release the antivirus into his own system? Would he even be in the right state of mind in time to do it? There were too many questions and far too few answers and it all made Rose's stomach roll with anxiety.

As lost in her thoughts and concerns as she was, Rose didn't even notice how close the Doctor was until she felt the gentle press of a kiss to her brow. Her eyes closed and muscles instantly relaxed as if an involuntary reaction to the Time Lord's touch.

"You don't need to worry about me, Rose."

"Of course I do." Came another involuntary response. "I always have, what makes now any different?"

A hand squeezed hers and her eyelids flicked open, immediately greeted by the oldest, kindest, darkest, and most determined brown eyes she had ever seen. They held her captivated as they came closer, her trance only breaking with the brush of lips against her own. She pushed forward, closing the marginal gap between them. The kiss was soft, comforting, and brief, but it still sent tendrils of sparks through her body. She felt both numb and hypersensitive all at the same time, all too away of the hand along the nape of her neck, the fingers gently brushing through her hair, the Doctor's warm breath as he pulled away just enough to speak so she still felt the whisps of his moving lips against hers.

"Because I'm going to win." Was his whispered answer. "Because nothing and no-one in that arena will be able to stop me now that I've found my motivation." He leaned into her for another chaste kiss before she felt him grin against her lips. "You can't get rid of me that easily, Rose Tyler."


	41. Chapter 41

The door softly clicked closed behind Rose. She leaned back against the dark, polished wood, breathing deeply to calm a heart that couldn't decide if it wanted to thump at a thousand beats a second or stop entirely. She was back in that God-forsaken blue cocktail dress – Ilaria said she looked absolutely stunning in it and that it was the perfect attire for their Trials-eve celebration – but she felt constricted, bound, as if the corset was made of chains and metal instead of soft fabric and silk.

A single tear she hadn't let slip during dinner finally found its way through her eyelashes and cut a streamline down her cheek. She didn't move to brush it away. She didn't have the energy anymore, not after having to sit through the most depressing dinner-party of her entire life.

And she thought the one a couple days ago had been bad. At least this time the Doctor was allowed to actually sit  _at_ the table instead of under it, but that was the only positive the human girl could find.

She knew this night was coming ever since the Doctor had pointedly turned down her escape plan. It was inevitable. But that didn't make it any less painful. Knowing the worst was coming usually only made it that much…worse. There was no relief in knowledge.

Three days had passed since Rose had found herself lying with the Doctor in the soft, cool grass of the Estate's lawns, relishing in each other's closeness, forgetting the rest of the world around them. Rose's lips still tingled slightly at the memory of the Doctor's own pressed against them, as soft and gentle as a summer breeze. They'd shared a few kisses before that one – victory pecks after saving a planet from imminent destruction, comforting kisses pressed to each other's cheeks or foreheads or on top of their hair, and, of course, that one in the auction room of Eyal before the Doctor was forced into chains and dragged away. Then, the kiss had been strong, passionate, trying to convey every feeling of love and need and gratitude and apology no words ever could. It was rough in a way, a welcoming bruise that Rose could still feel for hours later, like a visible mark claiming her as the Doctor's. She'd never liked that notion, hating the idea of women being degraded to mere possessions for overly-domineering men, but that one felt different. That one felt right.

Now she detested it. She detested the Doctor and his overly-communicative kisses, his deep, ancient chocolate eyes, his gravity-defying hair, his gentle touch, his loud, unencumbered laugh, his way of looking at her like she was the whole world, the whole universe, as brilliant and bright as every star, as beautiful and complex as every swirling galaxy, as powerful, strong, and unwavering as every mighty black-hole.

Because soon she wouldn't have it anymore. The Doctor had given her a taste of perfection, a taste of happiness and  _right_ ness only to have it all taken away, like a rug being yanked out from beneath her feet.

Because tomorrow the Doctor would be entering the Trial's arena. And despite his promises and uncanny ability to defy death (most of the time), Rose had to swallow a lump of burning guilt as she found herself doubting he could do it this time.

Snapping back to reality, Rose realized more tears had followed the first's lead. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she swept the back of her hand over her cheeks, feeling the wetness spread over her knuckles. She hated crying almost as much as she hated how useless she felt, but it appeared there was nothing she could do about either to change it. But what she really needed to do was  _change_! The damn dress was restricting her breathing. It was a symbol of everything she loathed: bring confined, the Ligtech's, dinner-parties, the Ligtech's, Ilaria, the Prebassador, the Ligtech's…

She had to get it off.

She  _had_ to get it off!

_Get it off, get it off, GETITOFF!_

Rose felt desperate panic bubbling inside her chest as she launched herself away from the door, fingers fumbling frantically with the delicate laces on the back of the bodice. No matter how she contorted her arms or strained her fingers, she couldn't quite make contact with them. They sat just outside her reach. She was trapped. She couldn't breath. The corset was only getting tighter. She would die in that dress, in that room, in that monstrous house with it's equally as monstrous inhabitants.

A knock on the door brought her hysterical mind back. She spun around just as the door was pushed open. Chirla the servant girl stood in the doorway, key in hand with her other still resting on the doorknob, but she wasn't alone. The Doctor looked even more tired than he had at dinner, but he still managed to smile as he muttered a quiet "Thank you" to Chirla and stepped into Rose's room.

The door closed swiftly behind him, and this time they both heard the deafening  _click_ of the door being locked, as was Chirla's job. After the initial flinch Rose saw from the Doctor, his calm façade came back as he turned to his companion, only to vanish seconds later at the desperation he must have seen on her face.

"Help me?" She practically whimpered. She still felt like there was no air reaching her lungs, but the panic had quelled slightly just at the sight of the Time Lord.

Without a word, the Doctor crossed the short expanse to her, long legs carrying him in only a few steps. She turned around and pulled her blonde hair, which had been heated into loose curls, away from her back to expose the criss-crosses of the corset's laces. Understanding her without having to be told anything, as usual, –  _that bastard_ – the Doctor began to pull at the bindings, nimble fingers moving with the grace of an artist as inch by inch the bodice released it's death grip. Rose shivered as she felt his cool fingers brush against the now exposed skin of her back. The corset was loose, but for some reason she still couldn't breath. This time, she wasn't so worried about it though.

The corset was loose enough now to take off, but neither of them moved. After a moment the Doctor wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her close. Rose let her head fall back against his chest, eyes closed and finally dry in relief of being freed from her fabric prison. The Doctor pressed a kiss to her ear, then another, trailing the gentle touches down her jaw line. With each kiss Rose felt herself relax a bit more until the tension finally left her shoulders. She leaned fully against the Doctor, letting his strong arms hold her close in a tight, comforting, protective embrace.

The Doctor stopped his line of kisses and set his forehead on her shoulder, sighing heavily. Finally, after a moment of silence, he whispered, "And the award for the Most Awkward Dinner goes to…"

Rose chuckled softly. "Tell me about it."

"Well, it started off with me wearing a ridiculous all-black suit that made me look like I was part of the Mafia. We all sat down: you, me, Ilaria, and Jancon. Then the soup came…"

"Okay, okay, I take it back, don't tell me about it. I really don't need to relive it again." They both laughed, but it was shallow laughter, like neither of them really found the topic humorous, only how it had been brought up again. A silence descended upon them. Rose could hear the Doctor's soothing breath against her ear, her own subconsciously slowing to match it.

The Doctor's embrace was good, but Rose wanted more. She wanted to hold him, too. After all, he was the one this was all happening to. Surely he needed just as much comforting as she did, if not more.

Without untangling herself from his arms, Rose turned so she was facing the Time Lord, wrapping her arms around his chest. She buried her face into his shoulder, breathing in deeply to catch and savor his scent. She let the breath out in a great slow  _whoosh_ and felt even more tension unravel from her shoulders. In that moment she could have melted into him entirely until the two were indiscernible from each other, unable to be separated ever again. That way he wouldn't be able to leave her.

"Please don't go." She voiced her thoughts as a whispered plea.

"Rose –"

"No. Please. I don't want you to."

"You know I don't have a choice." His voice sounded as broken as she felt: obviously shattered but in complete denial of it, trying to pull off a façade they no longer believed in enough. "I could be put down for disobedience. You could get hurt even more if they thought I needed more incentive."

"It wouldn't hurt as much as this."

"I know." The Doctor pressed a kiss to the top of her head before repeating, even more quietly, "I know." He squeezed her tighter as if trying to hide the way his hands shook against her back. "I'm so sorry…. I won't leave you. I'll stay as long as I can, as long as –" His voice trembled with uncertainty. "Only if you want me to stay here, that is."

Instead of answering, Rose pushed herself onto her tiptoes and kissed the Doctor, feeling him pause with surprise beneath her touch. After a second she pulled away and looked him straight in the eyes for the first time that night. For once they were open and raw, like a fresh wound looking for the relief of a gentle hand. "I want you." She answered, leaving off the here. It didn't matter where 'here' was anymore. She just wanted him. She needed him. She had to –

The Doctor was kissing her again, cutting off all other thoughts she may have had. It wasn't tender like the one on the grass, it wasn't desperate like the one in the auction room. It was impatient, impulsive, like he didn't realize his need to kiss her until it was already happening. His arms were still wrapped around her, pinning her body to his. Rose felt set free and held secure all at once, like she could do anything in the universe, conquer every obstacle, if only she kept clinging tight to this one fixed point in her chaotic world.

The Doctor's arm unraveled themselves from her shoulders. Rose gave a small moan of protest. His arms were so strong and warm and protective, she didn't want them to leave. But instead his hands latched onto either side of her hips, pulling her even closer, more intimately. His tongue traced around the inside of her mouth as her lips parted, brushing over her teeth before mildly pushing against her own. It was careful, exploratory, but passionate nonetheless as one of his hands began to move sensually up her side, over her shoulder, until he was cradling her cheek in the palm of his hand, thumb running over the still-damp tear tracks from earlier. Retracting slightly, he broke off the kiss, forcing himself to pull away from her, fighting against the magnetic pull of her lips and touch and closeness.

Rose's eyes were closed, but she blinked them open to see the Doctor staring unseeingly down as the minimal space between their two bodies. It wasn't hard to guess what he was thinking. Or maybe it was, but Rose just knew him too well to notice the difference. Either way, she thought she knew what he was going to say even as he opened him mouth.

"Stop it."

The Doctor looked up at her, surprised and taken aback and…was there a bit of hurt in those eyes as well? Rose bit her lip and pushed on. "Stop with the apologizing and the worrying. I don't want to hear you say 'I'm sorry' one more time."

Something sparkled in the Doctor's eye and he gave a single-noted laugh. "Rose…I wasn't…" He looked down for a second before locking eyes with her again. "I was going to say I love you."

The hushed words were like a shout, ripping through Rose as she stood there, stunned, trying to digest what he meant. With a shudder she arched up, capturing the Doctor in another kiss, this time with hurried, desperate longing. The Doctor replied, both hands moving to cup her face, the tips of his fingers curling into the roots of Rose's hair. He tasted like Time. Like cinnamon and ash and the minty, metallic taste of stardust Rose couldn't quite place how she knew. It made her hungry for more. She was on her tiptoes, her arms around his neck straining to hold her up despite the height difference between them.

Unexpectedly, the Doctor's hands moved down to her waist and picked her up with the ease of a dancer doing lifts. Rose made a startled sound against his lips before he felt her smile, giggling slightly into the kiss as she wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her ankles together at his back. She was now eye-to-eye with him, but both their eyes were closed, reveling in the closeness of their bodies as they dove headfirst into another ravenous kiss.

The Doctor moved them forward, body and movements showing no sign that he was carrying anything heavier than a toy doll. He was so strong, arm muscles taut where they pressed against her back. He carried her, step by step, over to the bed and, without breaking the kiss for even a second, bent down to lay her over the plush blankets as gently as if she were a porcelain doll, one arm running up the length of her spine so he could cradle the back of her neck.

Rose felt the mattress dip slightly as he leaned over her. His thumb was now brushing over her collarbone in wide sweeps as his tongue rolled inside her mouth. Rose's body arched up, desperate for contact with the god above her. She felt more than heard him hum slightly as she pulled at the hem of the Doctor's shirt, plunging her hands beneath the dark cloth. Rose could hear the sharp intake of breath from the Time Lord as her palms made contact with the smooth skin beneath the silky black fabric. She kneaded and groped at the skin beneath her fingers as the Doctor's lips suddenly left hers and began a trail over her jaw and down her neck. She gasped as he lightly nipped at her with his teeth before lick and sucking at the spot. Rose moaned. Yes, another mark. Another imprint on her skin like the bruising burn on her lips from their kiss in Eyal. Her hands started moving up and up beneath his shirt, the fabric catching on the crook of her elbow as her fingers finally made it to his chest. That shirt was a nuisance. That shirt needed to go.

As if sensing the thought, the Doctor stopped his careful ministrations to glance down at his companion beneath him. The eyes that met his were glittering and dark with lust. Her breath came shallow and quick and he didn't miss the way it made her chest heave desirably. It was amazing how  _aware_ you could be of someone else's presence; the way they smell, taste, the heat radiating off their body, the sound of their hastened breath. Rose made a noise of protest when he didn't keep the kisses going, her body squirming slightly. He ignored the impatient whine, looking down at Rose,  _really_ looking at her, absorbing her existence, mentally committing every bit of her to paper.

The voice in the back of his head that had been whispering at him all night suddenly reared its ugly head again. He tried not to show anything on his face as a split-second memory flashed through his mind of Rose pinned to a bed in a stinking cell, that fetid man leaning over her so similar to how the Doctor was now. No, not similar. Not similar at all. Rose hadn't looked at that man like she was looking at him now, hadn't pulled him close, hadn't smiled into his kiss. She didn't want that, but now she was laying beneath the Doctor with a look of pure desire and amazement in her eyes even as she frowned at the Doctor's sudden lack of action.

"What are you thinking?" She suddenly asked, her voice a bit rougher and deeper than usual.

But what if he was wrong? What if she didn't want this? What if she didn't want hi…

"Rose…" He found his mouth saying. "Is this…are you…?"

Rose rolled her eyes with a groan. "Are you  _seriously_ asking me if this is okay?" She fixed him with a glare, to which the Doctor could only reply with one nod of the head. "Doctor. Take your shirt off and get back to touching me before I have to do it myself."

Something hot coiled deep within the Doctor at her choice of words. He dove forward and trapped her lips with another hasty kiss before Rose pushed him away, a laugh breaking through her scolding expression. "Doctor. Shirt. Now." She managed to gasp out between his quick pecks.

"So demanding." He murmured against her lips, but Rose had already taken matters into her own hands, quite literally. She bunched up the hem of his shirt and, ignoring the buttons, pulled it over his head in one quick movement. His hair stood up straight and ruffled from the action, but Rose wasn't looking at his hair. She'd seen the Doctor bare-chested before, during harmless swimming trips or quick changes during their journey's, not to mention the other day after he'd been off running with the trainer. But now she  _really_ seemed to be seeing it for the first time.

He was still so slim and lean, but his abs were hardened with muscles that seemed to flex on their own with each breath. Without thinking, Rose had reached out and was trailing a finger down his faintly defined six-pack, marveling at the expanse of hard, pale, flawless skin. Pushing herself up onto her elbows, Rose leaned forward and licked a wide strip up the center of his stomach with her tongue, moving from waistband to chest. She didn't know why she suddenly felt so compelled to do it but was instantly happy she did as she heard the Doctor gasp above her. His body rocked forward slightly and suddenly she was on her back again, the Doctor kissing her passionately into the mattress. His hands moved from her face to her shoulders, down her sides to her waist and then up again to her breasts which, after the briefest moment of hesitation, he began to gently knead over the fabric of her dress. It was Rose's turn to gasp, but it got caught in the Doctor's ravenous kiss.

The Doctor stopped long enough to say, "Rose Tyler." He kissed her. "You." He kissed her again. "Are wearing." Another impatient kiss that left her straining for more. "Far too much."

"Well we must." Rose was cut off by another interrupting kiss. "Fix that immediately."

"Yes…" The Doctor growled as his lips moved to her left ear, teeth nibbling and worrying the lobe before pulling it into his mouth and sucking hard.

Rose's quick inhale turned into a laugh. She wrapped her arms around his neck, looped her right leg up and over his waist, and twisted. With a surprised grunt, the Doctor found himself suddenly on his back, Rose now on top, golden hair rumpled and glowing from the backlighting of the ceiling lamp. She looked like an angel standing over him, ethereal and radiant.

To his immense displeasure, however, she didn't stay on top of him for long. He sat up as she took a few steps backwards, eyes never leaving his as her nimble fingers reached behind her and finished off the work the Doctor had started on her bodice strings. The Doctor's eyes flitted over her entire body, drinking in the sight before him as the human reached up and let one sleeve fall sensually off her shoulder with a slow, calculated shrug. She didn't have to put on a show for him. She, of course, must know that. Must know she doesn't need the extra act to make him yearn for her, to make his trousers feel a little too tight. Just her presence did that enough, just her eyes dark with lust, smile bright with pleasure, just her wanting him.

But he welcomed the show nonetheless as her fingers slid down her own chest, pulling at the lacing with excruciatingly slow movements, revealing one inch of skin at a time. She must have seen the eagerness in his eyes because she suddenly laughed, breaking through her pouting, seductive act. If anything, it made the Doctor's blood pulse even faster. That was his Rose. His Rose laughing, flashing her brilliant, perfect smile.

At long last, all the unnecessarily complicated restraints on the dress were done, and the fabric fell like liquid from her frame, pooling on the ground around her ankles. The slip she wore beneath it left just enough to the imagination, but not much. It was thin and tight and  _Rassilon_ she needed to come back to him right  _now._

As if sensing the urgency, Rose strode forward, shaking her hair out with her fingers. She kneeled with one leg on either side of his waist, straddling his lap as she crushed their mouths together, hot and wet and demanding. The Doctor's shaking fingers found their way to the hem of the white slip and gently began pulling it off. They had to break the kiss to get the fabric over Rose's head, but they weren't apart long, clashing back into each other as soon as the obstruction was out of their way. The Doctor's hands wandered, following a path of their own design over her skin. The tingles of the light but demanding touches sent shivers up Rose's spine and made her entire body shudder with anticipation.

Rose realized suddenly that she had no idea what she was doing. Well, that wasn't entirely true, she knew what  _she_ was doing, but what if it wasn't right? The Doctor was an alien, no matter how much he looked and acted like a human. What if Time Lords did this differently? What if she needed to  _do_ something different for him? Was there something special he needed her to do, or needed to do to her? So many questions she had, admittedly, asked herself before, but she'd never been in such a desperate need for the answers as she was now.

However, if the firmness she could feel as she rocked against his lap was anything to go by, she must be doing  _something_ right. The Doctor was sliding his hands along Rose's sides, gripping her thighs tight as she ground experimentally down against him. Again, the Doctor had to break the kiss off as his head fell backwards, a groan of pleasure escaping him. And damn if that wasn't the hottest sound Rose had ever heard.

The Doctor's neck was far too exposed now. Rose took full advantage of this and began attacking it, licking and sucking and nibbling her way across the skin. The Doctor's hands were back in her hair –  _they were_ **everywhere** _! –_ the tips of his fingers curled once again into to roots at the back of her neck. He tugged when Rose bit his neck harder than before, not hard enough to hurt, just urging her on.

And on Rose went. She took his ear into her mouth just like he had done so recently, rolling the lobe around her tongue and nipping at the hard cartilage along the upper rim. But it was her hand the Doctor was  _really_ paying attention to as it moved down his chest and to his waist, a few fingers sneaking between his hipbone and the waistband of his trousers. Without taking her apt attention away from the ear between her teeth, the fingers crept along the waistband until they found the button and zipper at the front of the trousers, and they got to work. Within seconds the button was singlehandedly undone, and the zipper took even less. Then the hand plunged deep into the now open space, fingers wrapping around his already hardened member.

The Doctor gasped, drawing in a rattled, hissed breath as the fingers worked their way over his cock, pumping languidly as Rose pulled it free from his trousers and pants. His hips rolled forward, desperate for more contact, for more friction. Rose didn't disappoint. She ground against him again as she rubbed her thumb over the head of his cock. The Doctor hissed again, but this time it sounded more like a desperate " _Rose…"_ than anything else.

The human looped her arms around the Doctor's neck and kissed him hard enough to push him back into the mattress. She continued to roll her hips, gasping as a shock like electricity shot through her body. The Doctor's hands were on her hips, on her thighs, on the curve of her ass, on her back feeling the smooth bones and muscles of her shoulder blades shift with the rest of her. They moved over every inch of her, fingers wide and haunting, gliding over her exposed, fevered skin as if trying to memorize every curve and dip and hollow with the gentle touches.

There was a pounding in Rose's ears, a searing in her chest, and it took her a moment to realize she hadn't taken a breath since playing with the Doctor's ear. She pulled away from the kiss to gasp for air, but there didn't seem to be enough in the room. The Doctor's hand was now dangerously close to the gap between her thighs, kneading and pinching occasionally, but now they stopped there movement. Rose opened her eyes and was met by a pair of brown orbs still dark with desire but now tinted with…was that concern?

"Rose?" His voice was husky and deeper than usual. Rose was still panting for air, heartbeat pounding in her throat and making it feel clogged and impregnable. "Rose, what's wrong?"

Even though it was rough from excitement and lust, the familiarity of the Doctor's voice helped calm her frantic heart. She took in a deep breath and was relieved when her lungs seemed to accept it. The Doctor sat up, face now frowning with concern. He had one arm wrapped behind her back to keep her from falling off his lap and onto the floor as he came upright. "Are you okay?" He asked again.

Rose tried to smile and leaned in to kiss his frowning mouth. "No, I'm not." She replied, speaking into his lips so he could feel her continuing grin. "I'm perfect. I'm just….perfect."

"Yes you are." The Doctor breathed as he kissed her back and, with one arm still wrapped around her waist, twisted them both over so he was on top once again. He heard Rose draw in another gasp and assumed it was one of pleasure as he rubbed his hard shaft against her, feeling the wet heat radiating from the spot between her legs. His thoughts had long ago stopped being rational; there was no longer enough blood in his head to think straight. The only thoughts that passed through his misty, stimulated mind was  _Rose, love, need, Rose, Rose, heat, need, yes, Rose…_

"NO!"

The Doctor felt like he'd just taken a bullet to the head. His entire body jerked backwards from the power of the shout. The fog vanished from his mind as his blood suddenly ran cold. Rose was still beneath him, but she had twisted violently onto her side, shielding her face with her arms and shaking  _violently._

"Rose?"

She didn't respond. Her body shook even more as she started to sob, crying into her arms.

"Rose."

The Doctor's voice raised, concern coloring it that quickly turned to terror as she continued shaking and sobbing. Through her gasps he could hear her whispering " _No, no, no, please, stop, no, p-please."_

"Rose!"


	42. Chapter 42

" _Rose!"_

The Doctor instantly regretted shouting the moment the sound passed his lips. Rose flinched violently into the mattress, fresh tears rolling down her face. The white pillow beneath her now had dark splotches where the moisture seeped through the fabric and she clutched at it almost desperately, as if the soft cushion could somehow protect her from whatever was attacking. The Doctor hesitated, frozen into inaction. Soft murmurs of " _Please"_ and _"No"_ still emanated from his companion and each breathy, terrified word was like a sledgehammer to his hearts.

His hands hovered uselessly a few inches over her skin, fingers shaking almost as much as she was. He didn't know what to do. What should he do? What was wrong? Everything had been going so well, and then…and then suddenly… _this_? "Rose, please –" He went to brush his fingers comfortingly over her arms, maybe try and move them away so he could see her face, look into her eyes, figure out –

Rose shrieked. His fingers barely grazed his skin when she jerked away, scrambling frantically out from under him and up the bed until her back slammed into the headboard. She pressed herself against it, knees raised to her chest, arms wrapped around them like a safety belt. " _Don't. Please. No."_ Rose kept begging as her shoulders continued to quake, making the whole headboard rattle against the wall behind it. " _I'm sorry, p-p-please don't! I didn't mean…I didn't m-mean…"_

"Rose, look at me." The Doctor commanded in a low voice. He felt a gut-wrenching guilt at having to use that voice on her, but it worked. Rose instantly obeyed, head jerking up as her eyes, wide and pleading, finally met the Doctor's. It was like all the air in the room was sucked away in an instant. "Oh…shit."

Her eyes were dead. Glazed and dull as if asleep, pupils small despite the low lighting in the room, never shifting even as the Doctor waved a hand over them, trying to find some sort of life. Suddenly, as his hand passed over her vision once more, three or four inches from her nose, Rose's head abruptly snapped to the side. A strangled yelp escaped her lips and she began to sob weakly again. And then just as suddenly her head flew to the other side and she cried out again.

" _I'm sorry!"_ She wailed at no one. _"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sorry, sor…sor…p-please, don't. No. Don't – AH!"_ For the third time her neck snapped back the other way, cheek practically slamming into the headboard. Blonde hair swung dramatically into her face from the movement and stuck to the wet tear tracks now lining her cheeks.

The Doctor scrambled off the bed, the mantra of _. .no._ running through his head as he came to kneel beside his companion. Carefully, as if approaching a spooked horse, the Doctor reached out and took one of Rose's hands in his, gently prying it away from where her fingers were clenched into the skin below her kneecap. Initially she flinched, trying to jerk away from the touch as if it physically burned, but the Doctor held on. Eventually she stopped resisting and allowed her hand to fall limply, submissively, into his command.

"Rose." Despite the absolute terror threatening to physically lodge in his throat, the Doctor kept his tone steady, unemotional, and clear. "Rose, I need you to listen to me. I need you to hear my voice." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, hoping to provide her with some kind of reassurance that everything was alright with the touch. She started shaking a bit more, but her head angled towards him and the Doctor knew he had her attention. "Can you hear my voice, Rose?"

" _Y-yes, Master_." She responded in barely a whisper.

The Doctor ignored the foul word she called him, pretending she finished the sentence after the first word alone. "Rose, I need you to follow my voice and listen to it, really listen to it, okay?"

" _Yes, Master_." She whimpered again, this time her eyes slipping shut as more tears leaked, silently, from beneath her lids.

Again, the word was ignored. "Whatever you are seeing, whatever you are experiencing, it's not real. Do you understand? Listen to my voice, Rose. It's. Not. Real. You are having a flashback. That's all. You subconscious is pressing against your consciousness, bringing old memories forward and into what you perceive to be reality. That's all it is, Rose. Memories. Flashbacks."

" _M-m-memories?"_

The shaking had subsided slightly, leaving the Doctor enough air to breathe a small sigh of relief. She was listening to him. She wasn't too lost, not too trapped inside her subconscious that he couldn't still reach her. He just had to keep drawing her out.

"Yes, Rose, memories. Flashbacks. It's not real. You're safe. Keep listening to my voice, keep following it. You are safe, you're not there anymore. You're in your bedroom, remember? Your bedroom in Jancon's estate. Do you remember what your bedroom looks like?"

After a petrified pause that seemed to spread out for an eternity, the Doctor waiting on a knifes edge to see if Rose would respond, he saw her eyebrows angle down just a fraction of an inch, as if in thought, before she whispered the single word " _Lavender?"_

The Doctor practically laughed with joy. _Yes, yes_ the room _was_ lavender. The walls, the bedspread, the curtains, even the parchment on the little desk off to the side were all the same light shade of purple that would glisten softly in the sunlight during the day and at night made the room feel bright and airy.

"Yes, Rose, yes, very good." He kept his voice even just like before. The tone was working on her, it was keeping her grounded and focused on what he was saying. "You can see the room, just come back to it. You're safe in this room, remember? You're completely safe, no one can touch you. You're here with the Doctor –"

Which was apparently the wrong thing to say. Rose instantly tensed again, eyes flying open, any clarity that could have been there before becoming muddled and cloudy with fear once again. " _N-n-n-n-no_ , please _no. Please don't, Master, please don't take me to him! Please! I don't want to….I can't…Don't let him see me like this,_ **please** …" The begging soon gave way to sobbing as Rose buried her face into her knees. She was shaking so hard it was like she was imitating the TARDIS in flight. The Doctor – well, the Doctor did nothing. He couldn't do anything. He was too stunned by that sudden outburst and his hearts suddenly ached so badly they threatened to crush his lungs and collapse his entire chest. _That_ was what she was worried about? _That_ was what she was thinking? She didn't want him to see her… _weak_?

He grabbed up her hand once more, determination flashing across his face as he pressed a quick kiss to the back of the hand before continuing. "Rose, are you still listening to me?"

Rose's head lifted off her knees, eyes open and dripping. " _Yes, Master._ "

"Good. Keep listening to me. It's alright, the Doctor can't see you, I'm not going to make you go to him. Come to me instead. Follow my voice. I want you to latch on and don't let go until you feel safe and warm again. Do you understand? Keep following my voice, keep coming back to me. Have I led you astray so far?"

" _N-no._ " The Doctor could have whooped with joy at the lack of 'Master' at the end of that sentence.

"That's right. Just keep following me, I'm going to lead you to a nice, warm bed and a nice, warm, full stomach." Because he knew how irresistible those two single concepts could be when stuck where Rose was now. If she was back in Eyal – which it seemed very likely was the case – it would have been weeks since laying on anything that could even partially be considered warm or comfortable, and anything besides the promise of more cold, lumpy, watery potato soup would have made anyone's mouths water with desire. And it seemed to be working. Rose was shaking less. Tears had stopped falling from her eyes, which were starting to look bright and aware again, like the sun pressing its way against the slowly yielding clouds.

"There we go," He kept saying as the clouds continued to part. "That's it, keep following my voice. That's it Rose, you're doing such an incredible job!"

With a great gasp, Rose suddenly jerked back to life, the cloudiness in her eyes completely vanishing as she looked around in mild confusion, as if she'd just woken up from an impromptu nap. Finally, her eyes snapped around to the Doctor, who was still kneeling beside the bed, holding her hand. He smiled at her, a smile wide and bright with unsuppressed relief. "Hello." He greeted her cheerfully.

It looked for a moment like Rose was going to respond. Her mouth opened but then suddenly clamped closed, jaw clacking as her teeth snapped together. Her skin took on a sickly, green tint and her hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh, no…"

The Doctor sprang into action. He lifted her up, one arm beneath her knees, the other behind her back, and carried her swiftly into the adjoining bathroom, lowering her in front of the toilet just in time. Her body heaved as she was suddenly sick, spewing the remains of their dinner into the toilet bowl. Her fingers were white where they clutched the edge of the toilet. The Doctor simply sat behind her, holding her hair back with one hand while his other traced comforting circles along her back.

"That's it, you're alright," He kept saying in the same voice as before until Rose was finally finished. She sagged sideways against him, energy completely spent as the Doctor reached forward to flush the toilet. He handed her a bunched-up pile of toilet paper for her to wipe her mouth with and she took it with a mutter of gratitude.

When he was sure she could sit upright without him again, the Doctor stood and made his way to the sink, filling up a glass of water. She took it without a word, taking a sip and quickly swishing the contents around in her mouth before spitting it back into the toilet. "Thank you." She managed to gasp before taking another sip, this time allowing the cool, soothing water to run down her throat.

The Doctor collapsed down beside her, letting his back rest against the cold, hard edge of the bathtub. "Feeling better?" He asked carefully.

Rose thought as she swirled the remaining water around in the glass before downing it and setting the cup aside. "Yes…" She finally said slowly, almost as if she wanted to attach a question mark to the end of it. "What – what was that?"

Wrapping one arm around her shoulders, the Doctor pulled Rose closer to him. Her question had been laced with a soft quiver, as if she were about to start crying again and was terrified because she couldn't understand _why._ The Doctor could understand that. The Doctor had caused that.

"It was just a flashback," He tried to reassure her. "You're okay now, you're safe here."

"No," Rose pushed herself away from the Doctor insistently so she could look at him. Her brow was teased with thought and unease. "No, it wasn't. It couldn't have been a flashback. That…that never happened to me. How could I be having a flashback about something that never happened?"

The Doctor didn't respond. He just stared into her eyes sadly, as if trying to see straight through her worried brown orbs into the mind within.

"Doctor, am I…am I hallucinating?"

Her voice was once again tinged with something akin to fear at the idea that her mind could be playing such cruel tricks on her. The Doctor wanted to take her back into his arms, but he feared what her reaction would be. She'd already pushed him away twice, and it was only going to get worse. Instead, he fix her with another sad look, head tilted slightly to the side.

"No, Rose, you're not hallucinating. I wish you were."

"I don't understand." Rose suddenly stood up, stumbling slightly as a small wave of nausea washed over her again from the sudden movement. The Doctor forced himself to stand too and reached forward as if to steady her, but she shook her head to stop him. "It had to be. That – that- that never happened to me!" She struggled to find the right word before giving up. "I can't have memories of something that never happened!" Rose kept repeating.

"Unless you forgot." The Doctor responded in a quiet voice he was surprised Rose could hear over the panic and confusing rushing through her ears.

"What do you mean, 'forgot'? How does someone…. _forget_ something like – like _that_."

She was shaking again, arms clamped around her upper body, nails digging into the skin above her elbows just like before. The Doctor worried she would stress herself out into another flashback. She was showing all the same signs as before.

He approached her cautiously, hands braced in front of him with his eyebrows slightly raised in his usual 'tread carefully!' look. "Rose, please, you need to calm –"

"No!" She cried, turning on him. "Something's happening to me. Something you're not telling me. I know!"

"Rose –"

"I see the way you look at me!" She shouted over him. "Like I'm going to break any moment. And I…and I… _feel_ like I'm breaking!" Her voice hitched over the last word. "Something's wrong with me –"

"There's nothing wrong with you, I –"

"TELL ME WHAT'S WRONG!"

"IT'S MY FAULT!"

Silence fell over the bathroom, but not before those three words continued to echo off the cold ceramic furnishings like a ghost's cry. Even the Doctor looked stunned by his own outburst, face white as a sheet. Rose just stared at him, taking in the way his shoulders suddenly slouched in defeat, head tilting down in shame, hands falling behind his back in a grotesquely submissive pose he'd been conditioned into. She didn't like him looking like that. She was angry, yes. No, she wasn't angry. She was scared. There had been a very fine line between the two just a second ago, but looking at the Doctor now she would take the anger over the fear she now felt any day. There was nothing comforting about the way he now stood.

"Doctor…" She started quietly, slowly rolling the name off her tongue. "What is happening to me?"

He looked up for a moment before his eyes fell back to his feet, a sigh rocking through his entire body.

"Your…your memories," He struggled to figure out where to start. "Your memories are being suppressed."

Rose just stared. "What do you mean, suppressed?"

He glanced up at her again like a puppy looking for forgiveness when he knew he did something wrong. "I did something terrible." He practically whispered. "I thought I was doing the right thing at the time, but – but...It became too much. I wasn't thorough enough, strong enough. I'm so, so sorry."

"Tell me."

"Back before Eyal, back in the outpost with the Drephesh, you were…attacked. It was…you were…" He struggle to decide if he should say it, but Rose beat him there.

"Raped."

The word was singular, emotionless, a fact. The Doctor could see the sudden realization flash across Rose's eyes, but it was dulled as if she were talking about someone else, not herself. Like she knew it was true, but couldn't quite accept it as real.

The Doctor just nodded, glad he didn't have to say it and disgusted by how much of a coward he truly was. "You were having a nightmare after." He continued quietly. "I couldn't…I couldn't just sit there and watch you suffer even more from your own subconscious, so I went into you mind, hoping to just quell that one memory enough to allow you a peaceful sleep. But I couldn't control it; I didn't think it through far enough. I was quick and careless. I left the door open as I left and your memories, slowly, began to follow. At first it was just the incident, but then…"

"I kept forgetting."

Her voice was still almost dead. Again, all the Doctor could do was nod. "But a door once opened can be passed through in either direction. While your memories left your conscious, they became part of your subconscious, presenting themselves like nightmares or hallucinations."

Rose's breath hitched slightly with an oncoming cry. Nightmares. Hallucinations. _Flashbacks._ They had all been _flashbacks,_ each brief flash of painful thoughts, each sudden scenario that sometimes popped up at random moments during the day, each terror-evoking nightmare she'd attributed to her mind simply reacting to the fact that she'd been sold into slavery and suffered greatly at the hands of Eyal. Never had she imagined any of those could be real. Never did she _wish_ any of those could be real…

But they were. And for some reason the only thought that could pass through her buzzing, whirling, banging mind was, "You messed with my head."

She looked up from where she had been staring absentmindedly at her feet and suddenly felt intense anger course through her entire body. She glared daggers at the man in front of her, who looked as pained and broken as she felt but didn't deserve her sympathies. Her lips suddenly curled back in a snarl. "You _messed_ with my _head_!" Then suddenly she launched herself at him, catching both herself and the Time Lord by surprise. " _You messed with my head!_ You had _no_ right! You have _NO right_!"

Her fists were slamming into the Doctor's chest, sending him stumbling backwards partially from the force and partially from the surprise. His lower back hit the edge of the sink and he had to arch his spine as Rose continued to pummel him, fists striking his chest, arms, shoulders, until suddenly there was no strength behind the hits and her hands, instead, gripped tightly to his upper arms as if that were the only thing holding her up anymore. The Doctor was braced backwards against the sink, staring down at his companion as more angry, scared, betrayed tears coursed down her cheeks. Unexpectedly, she collapsed against him, burying her face into his bare chest and cried. Her hands beat at him halfheartedly again before they finally gave up. Trusting it was as safe as it was going to get, the Doctor warily removed his hands from the sink's edge and wrapped his arms around the human, holding her close and letting her tears wet his skin. She continued muttering those four words. " _You had no right._ " But now they sounded more like a subconscious act than anything with actual venom, gasped between desperate sobs for breath.

"I know. I know." Was all he could say, apart from, "I'm so sorry. _Nak'tea. Nak'tea._ " He knew she couldn't understand the Gallifreyan word, but it was all he could say. There was no word in her language that could communicate the depths of agony and apology he felt. There was nothing else.

Suddenly Rose pushed herself away from the hearts seared as he thought she was leaving, thought she was finally done with his failings and absolute uselessness. She wiped the tears from her face and stood before him, squaring her shoulders and announcing forcefully, "Fix it."

The Doctor just stared at her for a moment, confused. And then he realized what she was asking. His eyes widened and he began to shake his head. "Rose, are you sure? That could –"

"Please." The one word fell like a weight between them. "I need it fixed. I need my memories back. I can't keep letting them slip away, or, or come back to bite me in the ass later. If you enter that arena tomorrow and don't come back,"

"Rose, don't say that,"

"And don't come back, I need this fixed. I can't keep living like this. I need...I need..." She choked down a sob. "I need to _remember_ you." The Doctor felt himself cringe at that. "I can't risk forgetting everything."

The Doctor stepped forward, placing his hands on either side of her shoulders, silently grateful she didn't flinch or jerk or shrug away from the touch. "It's not going to be pleasant." He said quietly. "It's not going to be smooth or easy. If I go in and open your subconscious, _everything_ will come searing back at the same instant. You will remember it _all,_ every moment in one singular time. There's no way to slow it down. I can't control the floodgates like that, not this time."

"I understand." Rose said, tilting her chin up to try and look brave. The Doctor almost smiled. What was he saying, trying to _look_ brave? She _was_ brave. She was always brave. Braver than he was, at any rate, and here was the plain evidence of it.

After all this, the only thing he could do now was nod and do as she asked. It was the least he could do after everything he'd put her through, despite how much he hated it. So he stepped forward, fingers raised and eyes asking for permission. She gave a short nod in response and closed her eyes. The Doctor pressed the pads of his fingers against Rose's temple, and faded in.

Moments passed; silent, tense moments in which the two inhabitants of the bathroom simply breathed and waited, one's face screwed up with concentration, the other's forcefully blank and wet from old tears. Waiting, just waiting, until.

Rose whimpered. Her stoic face crumpled. Tears ran anew. Her composure cracked. She let out a strangled sob. Followed by another. And suddenly it was all she could do. Tears were running down the Doctor's face as well, but he kept his eyes closed, still working, still concentrating despite the desperate sounds of pain and fear and anxiety his companion was making. If anything, he clutched tighter to her mind, desperate to finish and get this over with. Memories flowed over him with all the force of a flashflood, memories that weren't his own but tore at his hearts all the same as they crashed and crushed and ripped and flooded the girl's conscious mind. Finally the last trickle of suppressed memories flowed through the fissure and it was over. He released his hold, but didn't back away. Instead, his arms instantly folded around his Rose, pulling her close. She didn't resist. They cried for each other until their legs became weak and they both crumpled gracelessly to the ground, never letting each other go. The Doctor ran his hands over Rose's back, up through her hair, swirling comforting circles against her skin in such an innocent way compared to only half an hour earlier when they were both caught in the throes of passion and desire.

They sat like that for an eternity, until the Doctor's legs fell asleep and Rose quickly followed, exhausting herself from the crying and remembering. The Doctor remained there for a few minutes more, just holding her, until the cold of the bathroom reminded him that they were both still completely naked and Rose, being human, was probably freezing. As carefully as one dealing with a butterfly, the Doctor lifted his companion up and carried her back into the warm bedroom, placing her gently on the bed and pulling the duvet up and under her chin. He ran one hand along her cheek, brushing a stray strand of blonde hair back behind her ear. He could have stayed there for an eternity more, just staring, just watching his Rose as she slept peacefully. How many peaceful sleeps would be in her future? How many more nights could she hold at bay the memories now painfully clear and present? He didn't regret doing what she wanted, doing what was right and what he should have done weeks ago, but he couldn't stop the guilt that made him feel physically ill.

After pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead, the Doctor forced himself to rise. She wouldn't want him here. She wouldn't want him ever again. He didn't let the way she held him tight a few minutes ago fool him, didn't think anything of how she fell asleep in his arms, gripping him tight like he was the only life-vest in a wide, brutal, violent ocean. She would hate him and she had every right to. In a way, he was happy. If she hated him, she wouldn't miss him. If he died tomorrow or the next day or the day after that or however long the Trials went on for, it would be alright. She would hate him, for good reason, and she would be able to get back to her normal life back on earth with her mother and boyfriend and her safe, harmless home.

He stood and took a step away, only to feel something grab his wrist. He looked down and followed the small hand up an arm to a shoulder and then to a face with eyes half-lidded with sleep but still pleading and questioning.

"Stay?" Was the single, solitary word she said. She would never know everything that one word meant to him, what it made him feel inside, how it made his hearts swell and breath hitch and lips twitch into a relieved smile.

"Of course." He whispered back. She shuffled over, giving the Doctor space to crawl beneath the blankets beside her. She snuggled closer, pressing herself against the Doctor so her head rested against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her once again and squeezed, reassuring her he was there and nothing would happen. No nightmares. No Rat-Face. No masters or trainers or prebassadors could harm her. He felt her body slowly relax, the muscles in her back and shoulders slowly unclench and release their tension.

Silence ticked on, perfect and warm and comfortable.

"I'm sorry." Rose suddenly whispered into his chest.

"Don't you dare." Was the Doctor's instant response. He pulled her closer, breathing deeply. "Don't you bloody dare."

The Doctor could almost convince himself her could feel Rose shake with a small laugh at that, but it was quickly covered by a yawn. She nestled closer to him. "But I am." Was her tired response. She sounded like she was already asleep. "And I still love you." She added as if in an afterthought.

The Doctor went to respond, to tell her he loved her and always had and always would. But she was already gone, fast asleep. The words were left unsaid.

* * *

The next morning, the door _SLAMMED_ open. Rose and the Doctor both jumped as if shocked, bolting upright in bed, still holding each other close as they had the whole night. Sleep blinded them, as did the light so cruelly turned on with no warning. The Doctor raised a hand to shield his eyes, the other to shield Rose from whatever had caused the sound.

" _THERE you are!_ " Growled a familiar, angry voice. Without forewarning, something grabbed hold of the Doctor's arms and dragged him out of the bed. He gave a strangled shout of surprise, still half asleep and completely confused by the chaos going on around him. "The ship leaves in ten minutes!" The voice roared again and he finally was able to recognize it as Jancon's. "If you're not on it I forfeit the Trail! Get him out of here!"

More hands grabbed him, dragging him backwards towards the door, away from Rose. She, too, finally seemed to realize what was happening. She launched herself forward, trying to reach him, but another guard held her back, keeping her on her bed while the Doctor was pulled from the room. He tried to resist, but he was too slow to bring his limbs into action. The guard's hands were too strong. He was out the door before a proper fight could even be put forth.

"No, let me say goodbye!" He heard the desperate cry from the room. It stabbed his hearts, cleaving them in two. "Let me say goodbye! Please! _Let me say goodbye! Doct_ –"

The door slammed shut behind the Prebassador, cutting off girl's protests, shutting out her voice, silencing what could have been the last words the Doctor ever heard her say.


	43. Chapter 43

The Doctor did not like his prospects.

For once he was thankful for the restraints keeping him pinned to his seat, because if he couldn't move then neither could the ten other lethal, dangerous, terrifying looking competitors sitting around him. They had all been brought into the hull of the plane, one by one as they were picked up, and clamped down into the thick metal flight chairs. No one spoke out loud, but the Doctor could practically hear several violent and threatening conversations going on between the other competitors through eye contact and body language alone. The Doctor tried to stay out of it all together, schooling his face into an emotionless mask even as the gigantic mountain of an alien sitting across the way leered and glared at him. His arms, only visible from the elbows down through the same thermal black shirt they were all wearing, were about the size of Bantha trunks and seemed to be made entirely out of cracked rock.

The door to the hull opened suddenly and the last competitor was steered in. She strutted down the aisle as if she were competing in the Miss Universe Pageant, graceful and confident in the way only a true killer could be in her natural element, and came to sit in the only seat left available; right on the Doctor's left-hand side. She leaned into him for a moment while one of the attendants fixed her ankles and shoulders into the restraints, sniffing the air around him.

"Your blood smells sweet," She drawled as she flashed him a petrifying smile. Her teeth were long, thin, and deathly sharp. Small points jutted out like tiny spears on the undersides, all the better for slashing and shreading. "I look forward to ripping into your throat and tasting it myself."

The Doctor swallowed down the lump in his throat. "Can't wait." Was his only response.

"Competitors are not to speak with each other prior to the Trials." A stern voice snapped through the air. The vampire-girl sat back in her seat with a satisfied smirk and winked at Rocky across the way. He returned her knowing simper.

_Okay, Rocky and Vampire are allies. Great._ The Doctor thought to himself. That was one alliance he was not looking forward to being formed. Both looked far too much like fighters, not flighters. Those were the two types of competitors in the Trials; those who made it their main goal to get to the finish line first, and those who would rather win by being the last competitor standing, taking far too much joy in the act of killing off the other contestants.

The woman who spoke earlier moved up the center of the aisle, checking over the participants like a butcher surveying her livestock. She had the tan skin, orange eyes, and ridged nose of a Drepheshie and the Doctor couldn't help but glare at her reproachfully. This species was definitely going on the naughty list!

"Alright, now that we're all here, we will be moving to the Trials' sight. Approximate arrival will be in one hour. When we land, you will each be escorted out individually to be pegged. The Trial begins at the gunshot, at which time the first peg will be discharged. Each release following will be at forty-five second intervals, order pending on the lottery that will be held in a moment. Needless to say, the competitor with the lowest lottery number will be released first, and so on. After that…well, I'm sure you all understand the rules and objective. There will be no conversation between contestants until after the first gunshot. And remember, this is live and televised to our esteemed viewers and sponsors, so please be sure to make each death as entertaining and graphic as possible. Thank you."

The woman quickly left after that as another attendant stepped forward, this time holding a black bag with a narrow opening at the top. "Each competitor will reach in and withdraw one number. If you are caught attempting to manipulate the order of the lottery, you will be punished and entered into the Trial with the disadvantage, regardless. Let's all play fairly, now."

This was the part the Doctor worried about the most, funnily enough. Everything else in the Trials depended on his own abilities and skills, and therefore he had at least a slight extent of control over what happened. This, however, was pure luck and chance. Each competitor was to draw out a number, the numbers dictating the order they would be released into the Trial. The lower numbers were given a head start, while the unlucky soul who pulled out the twelfth number would have to wait a painstaking whole nine minutes before being set to go. And in the Trials, even nine minutes could mean the difference between victory and death.

The attendant was now moving towards the competitors, offering the bag to the first in the row. He was a young, mischievous looking alien with unnaturally red hair and cloudy yellow eyes that looked like they could read your entire life's story with one glance. He reached into the bag and a moment later pulled out a thin piece of paper. The attendant read out loud, "Two."

The Doctor could practically feel everyone else in the room grow tense as the alien's eyes twinkled with pleasure. The lottery started off extremely low, and now one of the best numbers was out of the mix.

The attendant moved to the next one, another male who had four arms, only two of which were actually somewhat restrained. He uncrossed the other two and reached into the bag, producing his own number. "Five."

Not bad, but not good either. But from the way the alien had been scowling the whole trip, it didn't look like there was anything in the universe that would satisfy him.

The next competitor to reach in pulled out the number "Eleven". The girl – clearly an Aonian – kept her face impressively blank and eyes straight-ahead as if pulling the second worst number didn't faze her at all, but her skin suddenly turned a telling sickly green color, the freckled spots along her neck and collar bone turning white.

Her neighbor reached one scaly, clawed hand into the bag and, after a moment of shuffling, retracted it with the number "Nine" clutched between his talons. He wasn't as good at schooling his disappointed features.

And so it went on. The next one – a Zygon, of all things! – pulled out a "Four", while the male next to him pulled out the devastating, earth-shattering number "Twelve". The Zygon turned to smirk as well as a Zygon could at his neighbor, thinking he was 'hot stuff' (as Rose sometimes said). That was, until the Sontaran next in line pulled out the number "One."

"HA! In your faces, alien scum!" The Sontaran cheered. "You will all be destroyed and eradicated by the might of the great Sontaran race! I look forward to demolishing you all in the glory of battle!"

"Silence." The attendant ordered and the Sontaran quickly reigned himself back in. The Doctor almost laughed. _Who on Skaro would purchase a Sontaran and a Zygon as their competitors?_

Now thoroughly demoralized following the loss of the two lowest numbers, the Sinjuray beside him lowered her paw into the bag, slanted, cat-like eyes burrowing a hole in the ground. Her tail flicked nervously behind her, but it was the only sign of anxiety she allowed herself to show as the attendant read out the number "Six."

Only four more left: a three, seven, eight, and ten. The attendant now approached Rocky, who's arm barely fit into the bag enough to pull out the number "Seven". He flexed his stone-like muscles angrily as the attendant pushed the bag towards Miss Vampire beside the Doctor. Without taking her dark and yet somehow seductive eyes off the attendant – who wavers slightly and looked as if he were bordering on apprehensive – the vampire reached in and produced an "Eight."

Two more left. One great, one not so great. The attendant moved to the only competitor left besides the Doctor; a small female with a pointed face and quick, sharp eyes. Whatever she didn't pull out, the Doctor, who was _of course_ last to draw, would have no choice but to take. All the molecules in the room seemed to be frozen at that moment, and even the engine of the plane seemed to be silenced, as the female reached her hand into the bag, took a deep, uncertain breath, and pulled out one of the two pieces of paper left.

The attendant took the paper and, unfolding it, read out, "Three."

The Doctor let his head collide with the back of his chair. Ten. He was number ten. He would have to wait a whole seven and a half minutes before being released. Anything could happen in those seven and a half minutes. He had saved entire universes in less time than that. He would have time stop a political scandal ( _well, alright, most likely_ start _it first_ ), raise a nest of elehumps, finish that football match with the prince of Helveena VI, and meet up with Queen Elizabeth for tea and cakes before his peg would be released.

Jancon was not going to be pleased with this. But his owner had to know that he had no control over it! There was no way he could possibly be upset. No way he would possibly hurt Rose over it.

_No. No. We're not thinking about that._ The Doctor quickly reminded himself. He had banned himself from thinking about his companion, at least until the Trial was over. If he ever wanted to get back to her – and not in a body bag – he couldn't afford to be distracted; and everything about his perfect human was distracting, from the way she felt last night, grinding up against him, hands and lips everywhere, to the way she cried with anger and fear against his chest as she demanded her own worst memories be returned to her. Even now, the Doctor wasn't sure if he'd done the right thing telling her about the mental block, but she had right to know, the right to make her own decisions over her memories. He just had to hope she was strong enough to cope through them without him.

_Of course she is,_ the Doctor reprimanded himself with a sharp mental slap. And then he pushed all thoughts of her out of his mind, focusing instead on the _new_ attendant making her way between the competitors in the order of their numbering. As she got closer, the Doctor was able to see into the box she was carrying. There were a dozen tracker chips set up inside tag-guns. The Doctor's blood ran cold. He knew this was going to happen, but it still made him feel physically ill that his own deadly creation was about to be injected into his body. Jancon had promised not to use the virus on his own competitor, but that didn't make the Doctor feel any safer. He, of all people, knew his master's erratically swinging moods more than anyone.

The attendant finally stopped in front of him. "Lean your head forward, please." She instructed, stonily. Knowing he had no choice in the matter, the Doctor bent his head down, exposing the back of his neck. He tensed slightly as the nuzzle of the tag-gun pressed against the base of his spine and heard the _whoosh_ of a hydraulic pump shooting the tag deep within his skin. He grit his teeth sharply at the momentary pain. A strip of gauze was brushed carelessly over the injection point to wipe off any excess blood and the skin-weave on the gun's tip helped knit the tissues back together instantly.

"T-minus thirty minutes to arrival." The first women suddenly spoke up again before complete silence fell over the hull, the attendants and staff quickly exiting and leaving the competitors to their own company.

* * *

The creak of the door opening was followed almost immediately by the piercing sound of shattering glass. Rose jumped backwards as the container splintered into a hundred pieces at her feet, pressing back against the wall as her eyes darted from the mess of glass and cream on the floor to the door leading into her bedroom.

"Miss?" A voice called from the other side, curious and concerned, but Rose was already on her knees, mindful of the tiny glass shards as she began scooping the pieces into her hands. She could hear soft footsteps coming closer to the bathroom door. "Miss Rose, are you alright?"

There was a soft rap on the door and Rose knew she should answer, but whatever words she meant to say got caught somewhere between her lungs and her tongue. She made a strangled sound of affirmation that must not have sounded convincing at all as the door to the bathroom swung slowly open.

"Oh, Miss Rose, what happened?" Chirla quickly swooped into the room, kneeling down besides the human and taking her shaking hand. One of the sharp shards must have pressed too far against her skin as there was a trickle of blood pooling in her palm, staining the glass.

"I…You surprised me. I dropped the container. I'm sorry." The last part was added in a whisper. Chirla carefully plucked all the pieces of glass from Rose's hand and, after dropping them back in the pile on the ground, used the edge of her apron to sweep any extra bits laying nearby into the mound.

"Enough of that, no need to apologize. Can you stand?" Rose nodded as she rolled herself to her feet, careful not to move from the small patch of tile she knew was safe. "Come on, let's get that cleaned up." Chirla said cheerfully as she took Rose's bloody hand and led her around the glass pile towards the sink. Rose followed obediently, letting the servant girl run her hand under the cool water and watching the little swirls of pink liquid vanish down the drain. Determined not to be useless, Rose reached for a wad of toilet paper and pressed it against her cleaned palm to dry and stem the flow of more blood. It was a shallow cut, but thin tendrils of red kept rising to the surface as if desperate to escape the confines of her skin.

"Thank you." She managed a small smile before turning back to the pile and bending down to continue scooping it up.

Chirla caught her below the elbow before her knees could touch the ground, however, and steered her instead out of the bathroom and towards the large lavender bed in her room. "Don't worry about that anymore, Miss, I'll have someone come up here and take care of it later. You just sit down."

Rose didn't object as Chirla more or less pushed her backwards onto the bed, forcing her to sit still. But her mind was racing in circles, frantic and disheveled as it tried desperately to make sense of what happened last night and the chaos that ensued that morning. It had only been about an hour since the Doctor had been so rudely ripped from her side and dragged off to his possible execution. Rose had spent the majority of the hour since staring at the door in an undignified stupor, as if expecting the Time Lord to come waltzing back in and announce that he'd single-handedly escaped from beneath the noses Jancon, Ilaria, the entire Trials staff, and all of Drephesh using only an apple and soup spoon. She would hit him for worrying her like that and hug him so he could never leave again. But he never came. And he would likely never come again.

The soft tinkle of glass brought Rose back to reality. Her eyes shifted back towards the bathroom and realized Chirla was in there cleaning up her mess. She went to stand but realized halfway through the motion that she really didn't want to.

"You don't have to do that." She called instead. "I made the mess, I can take care of it."

"Don't you even think on it, Miss Rose." Came Chirla's quick response. A moment later she reappeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. "I think you've had quite enough to worry about, don't you?"

Rose tried to look grateful but had the sneaking suspicious it came out as more of a grimace than anything else. Chirla set herself down on the bed beside the human and gently ran a hand through Rose's hair and down her neck like one might stroke a scared animal. Or, no – Rose thought as she felt her eyes close and her shoulders lose some of their tension as Chirla continued to pet her hair – more like a mother soothing her child after a nightmare. A pang of homesickness made Rose feel almost physically ill. Never had she wanted to go home, back to boring old Earth in boring old twenty-first century with her boring yet frenzied mum, more than she did now. She was just so alone…

"I'm so sorry about your mate," Chirla was saying, and Rose had to force herself to pay attention again. "He seemed like a nice bloke for the time I knew him. It's not fair, frankly, what they're making him do, or making you go through."

This time, Rose was able to smile. "No, it's not, is it?" She managed a little laugh that was very short-lived.

Chirla's lips slanted in an apologetic look. "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but the Prebassador expects you in the main lounge in ten minutes. The Trial is about to start and he wishes you to be there."

"What, so I can watch the man I love be killed?"

"Or watch him survive." Chirla dared a hopeful smile. "He's a fighter, your mate, and I doubt he ever goes down easily without a fight." This did earn another small laugh from Rose. "Besides, the only thing I can think of as being worse than watching would be to seclude yourself up here and have no idea what may be happening. At least if you attend you can watch over him. He may not be entirely aware of it himself, but somehow he may be able to feel you with him anyway."

Rose knew that last bit was complete bull, but everything else the servant girl said made sense. There was no use in trapping herself in her room and ignoring what would still be going on anyway, even without her acknowledgement. She gave a short nod and a smile to let Chirla know she would be okay. The Aonian looked relieved.

"You can do this, Miss Rose. You are so much stronger than they." Rose didn't want to tell her just how weak she really felt. Still reveling in the discoveries of last night, Rose felt about as strong as tissue paper trying to hold up a boulder.

"Well," She glanced down at the thin silk robe she had wrapped around her otherwise naked body. "I guess I should get dressed…"

Chirla laughed. "Yes, that may be wise. Perhaps you can find something to match this." From within her apron pocket she withdrew a woven wire chain. Gems had been twisted into the thin links; both big and small, all the same semi-transparent white that seemed to reflect every color around them. Finding something to match the stones would not be a challenge.

"Your mate left it in my care last night to give to you after he left." Chirla explained. "I don't understand its significance, but he said you would figure it out." She raised the ends and signaled for Rose to turn around. The gems felt surprisingly warm against her skin as Chirla draped the necklace around her neck, fastening the clasps behind her. The lowest gem fell elegantly and tastefully above the crease in her breasts. Rose fingered the stones lovingly, somehow knowing that not long ago the Doctor had been twisting them into place on his own, carefully measuring out the perfect design with his tongue clasped thoughtfully between his teeth.

Warmth rushed through her like memories of laughter and adventure and sipping hot chocolate on a cold, snowy medieval day. She felt the tingle of his hand grasping hers, of his voice in her ears, of the way their bodies pressed together for warmth as they found themselves trapped within the catacombs of St. Stephen's Cathedral because the Doctor was _so_ certain that last time he went _left_ to get out, and of course there could be _no_ way the catacombs had been changed in the last two hundred years.

And as quickly as it came, the flash of memory vanished. But the warmth it brought remained, giving Rose just enough fire to stand up and face her heinous masters.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recap of the Competitors: 
> 
> 1 – Sontaran
> 
> 2 – Male with red hair and mischievous cloudy yellow eyes
> 
> 3 – Small female with sharp eyes
> 
> 4 – Zygon
> 
> 5 – Male with four-arms
> 
> 6 – Sinjuray female (feline-like alien)
> 
> 7 – 'Rocky', muscular, stone-like skin
> 
> 8 – Vampire-like female
> 
> 9 – Male with scales, talon like hands
> 
> 10 – The Doctor!
> 
> 11 – Female Aonian
> 
> 12 – Tentacles


	44. Chapter 44

The pegging only took a moment and was, for all intents and purposes, completely painless, but the Doctor held his breath the entire time none-the-less. He didn't like feeling trapped and vulnerable and that's exactly what the pegging was supposed to make you feel.

They led him down the aisle of the plane's hull passed the last two competitors. The Aonian watched him go with a blank, expressionless face, which had turned an inky black to match the rest of her uniform so the whites of her eyes shinned brilliantly bright. Number Twelve didn't even look up. That one spot on the floor must have been incredibly interesting, because he'd been staring at it unwaveringly since the lottery ended.

The Doctor was ushered into a circular lift along with two attendants. The grip they kept on his shoulders was light rather than constricting as he'd expected; there wasn't much of anywhere to go if he tried to run, anyway. The lift went straight down for only a few seconds before shuddering to a halt. The Doctor turn towards the door, expecting it to open again and give him his first view of the Trials arena, but instead there was the sound of metal grinding against metal and the floor began to shift. The steel plate retracted into the walls, revealing a circular patch of dirt beneath. Not expecting this at all, the Doctor had to perform a little leap onto the dirt to avoid losing his footing entirely. The two attendants stepped off as thoughtlessly and easily as one would from an elevator.

One attendant, a large, muscular Drephesh, kept his hold on the Doctor - which was much firmer now - while the other removed from a rack on the wall a long iron rod with a circular cuff attached to it on a short chain. The Doctor watched as she placed the tip of the rod, which much have been about a meter and a half long, to the dirt at the center of their little circle. An instrument hanging from the top of the lift compartment which the Doctor hadn't noticed before came down and attached itself to the top of the rod, drilling it into the hard ground with a whirl of mechanics. Soon, only a few inches of the rod was visible, including the chain and manacle.

"Peg is in place." The attendant spoke into a comm. device. "Securing the competitor now."

The Doctor was pushed forward and for the briefest moment he considered fighting back. There would be no point, obviously, as the walls of the lift were still closed around them, cutting off any possible escape route. The female Drephesh knelt down and clamped the Doctor's right ankle into the cuff while the male shoved a small compass, a pack of nutrition pills, and a tiny, pathetic excuse for a med-pack into the pockets of the Doctor's combat trousers. The Time Lord raised a surprised eye-brow - he had certainly not been expecting such gifts and wondered absently if all the competitors had been offered the same, or if his lord and master Jancon had managed to bribe the attendants somehow. He would not have put it passed the Prebassador.

The attendants finished checking him over, not so much as offering him an encouraging smile or words of advice or good luck. In fact, they offered him no looks and no words whatsoever, treating him as if he had the same range of awareness as the iron rod they'd just pinned him to. In the end, though, the woman ruffled his hair almost subconsciously as she moved around him back to the platform for the lift, like one would reward a dog for staying still for the groomer. The lift floor didn't completely form this time since the Doctor and his peg now stood in the way, so the attendants pressed themselves against the wall, holding onto little handlebars until the lift had moved high enough to clear the Doctor's head and the floor slid completely together once more.

Not a moment later, the Doctor heard the thrusters in the ship's engines roar to life again and almost jumped as the cylindrical walls surrounding him lifted off with the rest of the plane. The hulking metal ship rose slowly at first before shooting off into the sky, ready to drop off the next competitor.

For the first time, the Doctor got a a good look at the Trials arena. Back on the plane they had each been given a map of the area to glance at for a few minutes, pointing out where each of the competitors would be pegged and where the finish line would be. For most, it could only be used as a reference, since they were only given a little while to study it, but the Doctor had the thing memorized after the first thirty seconds. He now knew where each water source was, where each cliff dropped off, where each valley or ravine presented the most weakness.

But seeing the arena itself was another story. It was, quite frankly, lovely. Somewhere he could see himself once wanting to visit for a camping trip, like in those silly American movies. Tall, lush trees towered over him, the light of the twin suns illuminating the leaves and bark to give them a sort of warm glow that took the edge off the Doctor's racing heart if just for a moment. The air was warm but not hot, thankfully, with just a hint of humidity that would have sent Rose's hair curling into a frazzled mess within minutes anyway. Birds twittered in the trees and there were signs of other animal inhabiting the area. The Doctor thought, if worst comes to worst and he was stuck in this arena longer than a few days, at least he had a food source. It was true he could go days without eating, but there was no point weakening himself in the middle of a fight just to keep Bambi and Thumper off the menu.

The boots on his feet were made of supple, well-worn brown leather that laced up past his ankles for support, but his heels - unaccustomed after so many months of no shoes at all - were already starting to feel sore and confined. Knowing he wouldn't have much else to do for a while, the Doctor sat himself down, rearranging the chain so he could comfortably sit cross-legged in the dirt. Curiously, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the three items for inspection.

The compass was unextraordinary: a circular object with a plastic face protecting an arrow that was currently pointing just to the right of North. So this planet _did_ have a North, not just on the map. Lucky. If they had been on Constaline MP he would have had a right time trying to figure out which of the sixteen or so magnetic drafts he was supposed to follow. This was much simpler!

Nutrition pills were, as always, begrudgingly appreciated. The bland, tasteless white tablets would be able to provide enough nutrition to keep an average humanoid body running for half a day. For the Doctor it would be more that sufficient to keep himself going for a full 24-hours, even though they were hardly satisfying and still left the stomach feeling raw and shriveled like an old fruit. There were six pills in the pack, though the Doctor hoped he wouldn't be in the arena long enough to have to use all of them. He tucked the pills carefully back into his pocket, certainly not wanting to lose those.

And lastly, the most surprising and incredible item: the med-pack. It was _tiny_! Able to fit perfecting within the Doctor's palm, the small box was made of white plastic and, when opened, revealed a very creatively arranged pile of typical medical tools. There were a few strips of gauze, medical tape, a short roll of bandages that would hardly be able to wrap around the Doctor's head twice, a needle, some thread, tweezers, and a small container of antibiotic cream. The tiny bottle of ointment would hardly help against Nine's razor-sharp talons or Eight's lethal fangs, but he was thankful for it nonetheless. It would be pointless to allow a competitor to die of infection from a small cut or a thorn; these people wanted a show, not unfortunate circumstance. With something pathetically close to reverence, the Doctor tucked the med-pack into a separate pocket, making doubly sure the button on the top was fitted properly so nothing could fall out.

Not a second after he finished, an enormous _BANG_ filled the air. The Doctor launched himself to his feet, nearly tripping over the short leash pegging him to the ground. That was it. The Trails had begun. The first competitor had been released. The Doctor had seven and a half minutes - _well, now seven minutes and twenty-one seconds_ \- before his own peg would break open and set him free. His hearts pounded deafeningly inside his ears. The brightly-lit forest now seemed a little too bright. There was no where to hide. No darkness or shadows to conceal him and blend in with his all-black attire. He could so easily be seen, and even though the snatchers weren't allowed to prowl the arena until after all the competitors had been released, nothing stopped the other contestants from hunting down _each other_ . The Doctor only had to hope there was enough space between each of the competitors that no one would stumble across him and decide to take out one of their opponents when he was still, more or less, helpless.

Helplessness was _not_ something the Doctor generally enjoyed feeling, despite the fact that the gnawing, burning presence of it had been haunting him ever since his capture. He glanced around quickly, surveying the ground for anything he could use just in case. There was a sharp looking rock just a few feet away that was small enough to hold but large enough to cause sufficient damage if need be. Straining against the peg, chain taut and cuff digging uncomfortably into his leg, the Doctor stretched himself as far as he could, fingers grasping desperately. The rock remained just outside his reach. Frustration surged through the Time Lord. _Of course_ , he thought with a disdainful sneer. They would never have set him somewhere within reach of a weapon to defend himself with. He searched the trees above him, anyway, wondering if he could reach one of the lower hanging branches and snap it off, but those, too, remained infuriatingly out of his straining fingers grasp.

Three minutes had passed. The first four had been released. He had no doubt number One - the Sontaran - would head straight for the nearest competitor rather than the finish line. As would number Four. The only reason the Doctor could think of for placing a Zygon in the games would be to have it take on the image of the other competitors. Either to confuse or to take on their traits, the smartest move for the large, cumbersome creature would be to find the nearest able body to reflect. The other two, however, the Doctor had no idea. He could only hope they had all decided to run straight for the finish line on the Western side of the forest.

The Doctor spun himself around so he would at least be facing the right direction when the cuff released him. He would take off into the cover of the trees, disappearing beneath their leafy shade, and let the green canopy shelter him from the snatchers' sight. Five and a half minutes had passed. Now Five, Six, and Seven were free. The Doctor tested the peg once again, pulling on the chain with all his might as if he could pull the peg straight out of the ground. But of course, as he had expecting, the metal rod was in far too deep and did not budge.

They were almost at seven minutes now. Nine's peg would just be coming undone. Forty seconds remained before he -

_POP!_

The Doctor spun around, startled, and his breath froze before reaching his lungs. Standing not twenty feet away, flexing his raptor-like hands, talons clacking against the scales of his palms, was number Nine. The Doctor took a slight step back, chain rattling as he stared at the competitor with barely concealed shock. "W-what?" He stammered out with a huff of air. "How did -"

Another _POP_ rang through the small clearing and Nine vanished, reappearing ten feet behind the Doctor. The Doctor scrambled to keep him in sight as the dreadful realization hit him. "Oh, that's just not fair..." He pouted to himself. Nine was a teleporter, and the Doctor was chained to the ground. "Listen to me," The Doctor said a bit louder this time, letting confidence seep into his voice even as he raised his hands and took another step in the opposite direction until the chain became taut once again. "We don't have to do this. They're pitting us against each other for sport, but we don't have to play their game. We can do this together, we don't have to fight."

But Nine seemed to have other ideas. With a screech that sent all the small woodland birds in the area shooting into the sky, Nine launched himself forward, talons spread and ready to strike and slash. The Doctor ducked at the last moment, just barely avoiding the wickedly sharp nails impaling his throat. Nine's other hand came flying in towards his side, so the Doctor dropped, rolling out of the way. At least, he _tried_ to roll. The chain stopped him short, jolting him. He let out a strangled gasp as Nine's foot came down on his shoulder, pinning him even further to the ground, but he raised his elbow and struck out at the back of Nine's knee, sending the alien toppling over, legs buckling. Nine righted himself and spun around, but the Doctor was already back on his feet, turning in a quick circle to keep the chain from tangling around his ankles like a dog leash. Nine shot forward again but the Doctor caught him in the stomach, right arm extended fully to slam his fist into the hard muscle of the competitor's abdomen even as his spine arched backwards to avoid another swipe of the talons.

The silver-lining, the Doctor thought desperately, was that, despite Nine's quick teleporting, his movements were slow. Slower, at least, than the Time Lord's, and mostly predictable. The Doctor just had to hold him off for seventeen more seconds...

" _UFH!_ " The Doctor found himself suddenly on his back, side aching where the muscles had suddenly been kneed and ankle pulsing from tripping and twisting over his own chain. Nine towered over him, a victorious and murderous gleam in his otherwise black, beady eyes. The Doctor tried to push himself up, but the next moment Nine was kneeling over him, straddling his chest with the Doctor's arms pinned to his sides. The Doctor struggled desperately, thrashing from side to side, bucking up with his hips, but nothing he did managed to dislodge the being above him. And then that beings cold, scaly hand was wrapped around the Doctor's throat, talons curving and splitting the skin, orange blood welling up and he increased his grip. The Doctor gasped and wheezed but no air came through. He still had ten seconds before the manacle would come off, but even with his lung capacity it would only take about half of that to dull his senses. Ten seconds and there would hardly be enough oxygen in his brain to still move his limbs - which were already starting to feel heavy like lead.

He tried to switch on his respiratory bypass system, but he didn't have the reserves built up to hold out that much longer. Maybe fifteen seconds. _Maybe._ Nine's grip became impossibly tighter and the Doctor feared he would crush his esophagus first anyway. He wasn't struggling anymore. The Doctor let himself go limp, unmoving except for his eyes which stared pleadingly into the malicious orbs above him. A scratching sound that might have been a laugh escaped Nine's twisted mouth, but the noise seemed to come from miles away. There was a rushing sound in the Doctor's ears, drowning out the fading beats of his hearts. The image of Nine leaning over him became blurred and darkened along the edges. The Doctor's chest felt like it was about to cave in at any moment. His lungs _seared angrily._ He needed air. He needed to breathe. He had to breathe. He had to...had to...

* * *

"Oh, come _on,_ Vis. _Pleeeeeeeeeeease_?"

The guard rolled his chair around to face her, hand gripping the corner to swing himself around. He placed his chin on the desk, peering up through his eyelashes at her with his large, beseeching orange eyes. Vistorya continued to ignore him, typing away at the keyboard with her own eyes glued to the screen even as a small smirk broke out on her lips. "No, Karmus."

Picking up on the slight giggle in the secretary's voice, Karmus sat up and scooted closed, the wheels on the chair scratching across the wood floor. He gave a charming smile as he said, "Vistorya, you sadistic bitch, I'm _begging_ you here! What's it going to take to convince you? I've already employed my most charismatic smile, what else do you want me to do?"

"Well, for starters," Vis began, taking her eyes off the computer for the first time to pin Karmus down with a playfully menacing glare. "You can make it legal so I wouldn't be breaking any laws _if_ I did agree."

At this, Karmus laugh outright. "Like that has ever mattered to you before, Vis! Or need I remind you of the Mid-Season Solstice office party of '23?"

Vis brought a single well-manicured finger to her lips as she grinned into the glow of her computer screen. "I have _no_ idea what you're talking about." She replied in a manner that quite clearly stated she did.

"Or..." Karmus mused, "And I really didn't want to have to bring this up, but you leave me no choice - need I remind you once again that there is a certain guest room on the second level that mysteriously lost all record of it's use last week, and therefore no subsequent payments ever reached the record-keepers?"

Now Karmus knew he had her. Vis waved her hand over the sensor beside her desk, dissolving the screen so she could look straight across the desk at the now victorious guard. For a moment her expression was completely blank before a suspicious scowl entered her eyes. "Don't you have a slave to go beat up, Karmus?"

" _Train_ , Vistorya." He sat back pompously. "We don't beat slaves at Eyal, we _train_ them."

"Oh, yes, quite." She grinned at the long-running office joke, and then let the smile slip off her face to put on an exaggerated reprimanding stare. "No."

"Please?"

"No."

"I'll get your tea for you everyday this week?"

"No."

"This month?"

"No."

"I'll set you up with my brother..."

" _Absolutely_ no _._ "

"No, what?"

Both heads jerked up at the sound of the new voice. One of the younger trainers stood over them, jacket stripped off and draped over his shoulder as he leaned casually against the desk. Karmus relaxed, but the new tension in Vis's shoulders remained as she brought the screen back up, shielding herself from their immediate view.

"AH, Docappel! Back me up here, I'm trying to get Vis to use her magic hacking skills and find the video feed of the Tarmaggon Trials."

" _Shhhh!"_ Vistorya hissed and shot him another meaningful look. "Do you want the entire office to hear?"

"The Tarmaggon Trials?" Docappel asked in a surprised tone as he pulled up another chair, much to Vis's displeasure. "Aren't those illegal?"

"Yes." Vis said quickly while Karmus made an indecisive face.

"Not really. They're just...not exactly legal."

"And I am _not_ bringing up the feed." Vis added with another smirk.

"But you _do_ have it, don't you?" Docappel leaned forward with Karmus, now looking like eager children. "Oh, let's go!" He encouraged. "I've always wanted to watch one."

"And we both know you're just going to go back to your empty house and watch it by yourself with your Twelve or so Pigmi Sinjuries." Karmus' smirk was even wider than hers had been.

Vis was quite glad for the screen still raised as she typed - more like stabbed at the keyboard - the notes from the day into the file to send to the record-keepers. Little did they know, the smirk was no longer from dangling the hope of watching the Trials over their heads (and of _course_ she was going to get the link for them! She just enjoyed watching them _squirm._ ) The truth was, her house had been _far_ from empty the last few days, leaving no time for such trivial hobbies as hacking into a secure wireless system designed for the elite of the planet-cluster in order to indulge in the illegal, yet beautifully upheld tradition of gladiatorial competition. Although the grin did falter slightly over the trainer and guard's words. _Now_ the house was empty again. He had left just yesterday, placing a swift farewell and thank-you kiss on her cheek before dashing off into the stolen shuttle and taking off into the stars. It had only been a few days, a week at most, but somehow, in some way, Vis already missed him. He had been different. Daring. And - above all - dangerous in so many, many ways. She wished she'd thought to postpone her side of the deal for a little longer; a few extra days would hardly harm the slave, who was probably curled up in that aristocrat's lap enjoying being hand-fed and coddled. Then she could have her dashing hero back...

But instead she only put on a defeated glower, muttered, "Eight Pigmi Sinjuries, actually" even as she pulled up the video link she'd already saved to her computer earlier that morning. "Alright, come on, boys." She sighed exasperatedly and scooted her own chair over to give them room behind the desk.

Not even bothering to hide their joy at 'winning', Karmus and Docappel quickly wheeled their chairs around to bunch in closer to the secretary, who rolled her eyes and smiled as the images loaded. They watched in thrilled silence as the descriptions of each of the the competitors and their odds flashed across the screen, the slightly opaque rankings just barely covering the sight of a creature with four arms clinging to the side of a small cliff while a blue Sinjuray watched with slanted yellow eyes from between the branches of a nearby tree, tail twitching in anticipation of a pounce. However, itmust have decided against it, for suddenly the cat-like creature vanished, clawing it's way further up the tree and disappearing behind the greenery.

"Mmmm, I love Sinjuries." Docappel mused in a far-off voice. "So agile and lithe. Do we ever get any of those coming through here?" He asked hopefully.

"First attainment record I see of one, I'll let you know." Vis tossed him a wink. It wasn't even worth pretending she didn't hacked into the slave-rosters each time they got a new shipment. Curiosity can killed a secretary.

"Bless." Docappel smiled at her.

"Oh, oh, oh! What have we here!" Karmus rocketed forward in his seat as the scene changed, now showing two figures standing about twenty feet from each other, one flexing its talons and the other still pegged to the ground. "Oh-ho-ho, I love when this happens!"

Suddenly the one with talons - number Nine, according to the commentary running ont he bottom of the screen - vanished and reappeared the next instant behind number Ten. The men gave a quiet whoop of surprise. "OH! Now that's just not fair!" Docappel exclaimed with a laugh. "Poor bastard. Ten's got no chance."

"Ah, don't count it out yet." They were both on the edge of their seats now, watching avidly as Ten dodged Nine's first attack and threw itself to the floor, rolling as far as it's chain would allow out from beneath Nine. Vis, however, was sitting back in her chair, regarding the thinner, humanoid creature with a slight frown. The slave looked familiar. Very familiar. There was always a chance

one of the participants would purchase one of their slaves through Eyal, but it was increasinly rare due to the higher survailance on the most popular slave supplier in the cluster. The Trials were still, strictly speaking, illegal, even if everyone tended to turn a blind eye and deaf ears to it, but something as obvious as a purchase would have to have been monitored. And Vis had no recollection of coming across files of that kind.

"Hang on...Don't I know that slave?" Docappel suddenly voice her thoughts.

Karmus squinted at the screen, now frowning along with them. "Hang on." He muttered slowly. "I've definitely seen it before, too...wasn't that Bachir's brat of a trainee from a couple weeks ago?"

Vis bolted upright in her chair, eyes blown wide as she watched the creature get up and strike back at Nine, managing to land a punch in the scaly creature's stomach. "Yes, I recognize it as well. What was the number of Bachir's last trainee?"

Docappel looked around thoughtfully. All trainers were supposed to know the identification numbers of the other trainer's slaves in case they needed to step in or help out with their charge. Even though Docappel was one of the newer training graduates, he had still been there during that time. "I think it was something in the three hundreds. 304? No, 305. Definitely 305."

"So 196305 was the full ID?" Vis managed valiantly to hide how her heart beat had risen and how her hands now grasped the edge of the armrests, turning her knuckles white.

"Yeah, that would be about the time, I think." Docappel agreed, turning back to the screen. Karmus whistled lowly as Ten - the once upon a time 305 - was kneed in the side, sending it stumbling backwards and tripping over it's chain. Vis forced herself to sit there for a moment longer as Ten landed on its back and Nine pounced on it, pinning Ten to the ground and wrapping it's large hands around Ten's throat.

"Crisps for anyone?" She asked, rising quickly. The boys both made indistinct sounds of affirmation, but she was hardly listening. She marched away from her desk, feet taking her automatically towards the staff kitchens, ignoring the silent slave sweeping the floor right in front of her and walking straight through it's path. She pulled from he pocket a communicator - the one she used for personal calls...and therefore hardly ever used - and dialed a quick number. Before entering the kitchen, she took a turn down a less-used hall, bringing the communicator to hear ear and waiting with baited breath. Waiting. Waiting...

" _Vis?_ _"_

"Ren. Hi, yes, it's me. Listen, we may have a slight change of plans. You might want to place coordinates for a new destination..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recap of Trials competitor order:
> 
> 1 – Sontaran
> 
> 2 – Male with red hair and mischievous cloudy yellow eyes
> 
> 3 – Small female with sharp eyes
> 
> 4 – Zygon
> 
> 5 – Male with four-arms
> 
> 6 – Sinjuray female (feline-like alien)
> 
> 7 – 'Rocky', muscular, stone-like skin
> 
> 8 – Vampire-like female
> 
> 9 – Male with scales, talon like hands
> 
> 10 – The Doctor!
> 
> 11 – Female Aonian
> 
> 12 – Tentacles


	45. Chapter 45

_Click._

Somehow the tiny, insignificant noise was heard over the sound of the struggling pair. The Doctor, lungs burning and ribcage feeling like it was about to concave beneath the joined pressure of lack of air and Nine sitting on his chest, barely even registered that the sound meant, concentration entirely focused on keeping the impending darkness at bay. A fraction of a second later, as Nine's claws dug further into his skin, the Doctor realized what had happened. Not wasting another moment, he kicked out with his legs, disentangling them from the knot the chain had formed around his ankles when he fell. The cuff fell away, finally released from the peg and not a moment too soon.

Driven by the last remaining strength he had, the Doctor swung his legs high in the air, slamming his knees into Nine's spine. Nine jolted forward but the force wasn't strong enough to knock him off entirely. It was, however, enough to loosen his knees, and the Doctor wrenched his right arm free from beneath the alien. Although instinct told him to grasp and claw at the vice-like grip around his throat, he forced his fingers to curl into a fist and threw a vicious right hook into Nine's jaw. Not a moment later his knees struck Nine in the spine again before wrapping around his neck and twisting. Off balance and stunned from the sudden strikes, Nine slipped off the Doctor, hand falling away from the Time Lord's throat.

Glorious air rushed into the Doctor's lungs, but he didn't have time to savor it. Nine was coming back to his sense, a squawk of anger coming from his snarling mouth as he turned on the Doctor again. The Doctor rolled once, twice, trying to distance himself from the murderous alien as much as he could even as his muscles _screamed_ for oxygen to fuel them. He gulped in air only to cough it back out as dirt and sand flew in instead. The coughing didn't stop, but neither did he. The Doctor rolled backwards, mindless of how pathetic he looked, hacking and trying to crawl away from the impending danger.

Nine was back on his feet and launched himself at the Doctor, a string of scaly spines rising up along his neck to make him look even larger and more threatening. Not that he needed to. The Doctor twisted over so he was once again on his back, staring up at Nine as the alien pounced on him. What little air the Time Lord had managed to regain was gone a second later as Nine landed on his chest again, arm raised, talons poised, this time to slash instead of crush. They were arching down. The Doctor had less than a second. He stretched as far as he could and -

_WHAM._

Nine fell like a dead weight on top of the Doctor. The Time Lord grunted softly as his airway was squash even more, any excess oxygen being flushed cruelly out of his lungs again. He lay there for a moment, stunned and gasping shallowly as Nine's body weighed down against his chest, before the gravity of the situation returned to him. He had to get up. He had to get going again. Time had already run out, the last competitor had been uncuffed, the snatchers would have been released. The Doctor stared upwards at the clear blue sky above and realized just how exposed he was in the clearing. He had to move.

With more effort that he wished it would take, the Doctor managed to shrug and shove Nine's limp form off of him. Blood was oozing from a wound just above the alien's left ear; a dark purple that matched the stain setting into the jagged edge of the rock clasped tightly in the Doctor's hand. After a moment he dropped the stone, and it landed with a heavy thud on the forest floor.

A small measure of guilt swelled up inside him at the sight of the unconscious, bloody being. Nine wouldn't die from the injury, but the Doctor didn't envy the headache he would have when he woke up. He didn't have to hit him so hard, he could have just run away, or tried talking to him -

 _No_. He _did_ try talking to him, and the alien attacked anyway. Trying to dissuade him had been about as successful as trying to escape a black hole on the back of a leaf blower. This wasn't the time for talk; Nine knew that, everyone else there probably knew that, and it had almost cost the Doctor his life to learn that. Now was the time for action, for defense, for violence if it came down to it. Survival was the first thing in order. Than rescuing Rose. His morals and guilty conscience would have to come later.

This certainly meant he would have to give up his habit of chatting the ears off his enemies, for the time being...but by no means did he have to become a killer. And by no means did he have to become heartless, either. He might play their game, but he didn't have to become one of them.

So even as he cruelly crushed down the guilt lodged somewhere in his aching chest, the Doctor moved into action. He couldn't just leave Nine laying unconscious in the clearing, vulnerable and defenseless. Although he doubted Jancon would activate the virus in an knocked-out competitor if the snatchers _did_ come along, but the Doctor didn't want to risk the life of the alien, or those of the snatchers if it came to that.

It was a slow, lonely battle trying to get back to his feet. The Doctor's lungs still burned with every gasp of air and his ankle gave a small twinge of pain when he put any weight down on it. Not a good start to the Trials, twisting his ankle. If he couldn't run, he was basically screwed. A hand found its way up to his throat, feeling the torn and bruised skin around his neck. Nine had nearly snapped the Doctor's esophagus. Another few seconds, a little more pressure, and the Doctor would have died just moments after the attack, choking to death as his own blood clotted in his destroyed throat. Blood colored his fingers orange when he pulled them away; not much, but enough to fear the wound was deep enough to cause infection.

He would have to worry about that later. Stealing himself, the Doctor prepared for any amount of pain that might come as he leaned down and grabbed Nine be the arms, dragging him backwards across the dirt towards the tree line. It was slow work with his ankle throbbing with each step and lungs aching from the extra strain. He half expected his fellow competitor to be light as a feather, judging by his clear avian-like heritage, but Nine was surprisingly heavy. His feet dragged unhelpfully in front of them, limbs like a marionette with it's strings cut.

The Doctor felt more than saw himself finally cross into the tree line. The shade was cool and refreshing after the struggle he'd just been through in the unrelenting sun. It wasn't nearly as hot as the desert of Drephia had been - he shuddered at the painful memory of being tied to that pole outside the outpost - but the protection of the trees was still a welcome relief. He dragged Nine a few more layers in before propping the alien up against a tree trunk and collapsing down beside him with a heavy "Whoooo."

The forest was eerily quiet, and after only a few seconds of the unsettling silence, the Doctor cleared his throat and clapped Nine on the shoulder like they were old drinking pals. "There you go, buddy. You just rest up." The Doctor found himself muttering as he closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the tree. "You're going to have one hell of a headache in the morning. I certainly don't envy you that." He opened one eye briefly and glanced sideways at the unresponsive competitor.

"No hard feelings, I trust?" The Doctor went on. When Nine didn't reply - not that the Doctor really expected him to - the Time Lord instead ran his eyes over the alien's body. He hadn't had much time to take in Nine's appearance earlier, not with all the disappearing and strangling going on. Now he truly could see just how razor sharp those talons were, just as sharp as his facial features and hooked, beak-like nose and just as hard as the black scales leading from the talons over his hands and up his arms. The Doctor had no doubt his feet and ankles were the same, but that only deepened the frown forming between his eyebrows.

"Part bird, part reptile, but can...what is it, teleport? Move impossibly fast? How _do_ you manage that little party trick, eh?" He mused out loud. Nine gave no response. "Biological? Learned? Illusion?..." Nine was as silent and unconscious as ever. The Doctor blew out an exasperated breath. "Well, blimey, you're quiet company. Granted, I guess I have a bit of blame to take for that. Knocking someone unconscious does tend to be a bit of a conversation killer."

Determined as ever, the Doctor paused again incase Nine decided to comment. No entirely surprisingly, he did not. After another expectant moment, the Doctor just clapped him on the shoulder one more time. "Yep, good talk. Let's do it again sometime." Having his breath back, the Doctor pushed himself to his feet, using the tree for leverage. He stuck out his tongue, tasting the air like a lizard. There was a strong magnetic zing in the air. He was too far North. The finish line was somewhere off in the southwestern region of the arena. Reaching into his pocket, glad none of the contents had spilled out during the little skirmish, the Doctor pulled out the cheap compass and inspected it. The little arrow was pointing behind him and to the right. at least he was facing the right direction. Now all he had to do was -

"Ahh."

The cry was more from surprise than pain as the Doctor glanced down at the burning spot on his left arm. The ridged dot by the crook of his elbow pulsed warningly. Someone must have just been picked up by the snatchers, the tag inside the competitor's skin activating. The Doctor hadn't noticed during the testing just how strong he'd made the alert on his own subdermal remote, but at least there would be no mistaking it or missing the alarm. Without hesitating another second, he pressed his finger to the raised bump searing just below his skin and sent out the signal for the antivirus. He hoped that, if he was fast enough and consistent enough each time, Jancon just might think it was a fluke, might think the virus didn't work, might think his precious pet Time Lord had screwed up and the distance between the remote control and the tag was too far apart for the signal to reach. If the Doctor was fast enough, the virus wouldn't even have time to react within the competitor. If he was fast enough, no one needed to die.

 _Unless they get in my way,_ the strong, defiant voice that had gotten him through Eyal training suddenly spoke up. It was his voice of instinct, of survival, strengthening his resolve and reminding him of the verdict he'd come to only minutes earlier. He would do whatever it took to make it through this Trial and get back to Rose with the least amount of bloodshed he could, but it was pointless to avoid the inevitable fact that, at some point, he would have to injure or kill to make it happen. _You've already destroyed your entire planet_ , the suddenly venomous, vindictive voice added, _what's a few more pints of blood on your hands?_

Instead of answering himself, the Doctor knelt down, grabbed the compass he'd dropped when the alert went off, and pocketed it among his other few possessions. He started off at a swift pace, angling a little more west than south. If he followed this path - and remembered the map properly - he would eventually intersect with one of the two creeks that ran through the arena. His throat felt raw from coughing and layered with coarse sand. He would need something to drink soon and he only hoped the creek wasn't too far away. The sun was already slanting down towards the horizon. The Doctor guessed he had about two and a half, maybe three hours of sunlight left, and would need to find shelter before the night took over, too.

If it hadn't been for his growing thirst, sore neck, slightly throbbing ankle, and the ever-present tingle of paranoia ( _no, awareness,_ the Doctor tried to console himself) he might have actually began to enjoy himself. Despite the impending nightfall, the forest was beautiful, the trees illuminated by the soft light filtering through the upper branches and leafs. The birds he'd heard earlier, however, had stopped their cheerful chirping, most likely disturbed by the zooming of the snatchers' aircrafts. So instead the Doctor whistled lowly to himself, determined - if not delusional - that he was going to enjoy every little moment of peace he could.

* * *

Jancon watched with caged curiosity as the victorious snatchers swept away the now neutralized competitor. Twelve's strange, tentacle-like appendages dangled harmlessly behind him as he was dragged into the aircraft, stunned but still alive and conscious. Jancon absentmindedly ran his thumb along the curved edge of the remote hidden discretely between his leg and the arm of his large, wind-backed chair. It had been a good minute or two since he'd pressed the button and nothing had happened yet. During the testing, the effects had taken only seconds to reach the slaveboy. Of course, distance had to be taken into account, but he'd hardly expected it to take _this_ long. Maybe he should have tested that as well...he was getting lazy.

He doubted the Time Lord had done anything so simple to compromise the project. It was hardly a secret that John didn't approve of his master's winning tactic, but with everything the Time Lord had at stake, and the ease at which Jancon could have decided to test the reach of the remote's signal, it would have been so foolishly beyond John's intellect to do something so noticeable and rash. No, it must have been something else.

Either way, the Prebassador glanced sideways out of the corner of his eye at the human curled up on the couch across the room as if her body-language could have revealed her mate's involvement. However, the girl gave nothing away except for that fact that she _clearly_ didn't wish to be in their company.

Like Jancon, Rose sat slightly apart from the rest of the crowd converged in the entertainment room, not joining in with their conversation or laughter. She had hardly touched any of the food or drink laid out either, feeling nauseous just at the thought of putting anything in her stomach. She didn't really care that she looked like an insolent teenager, curled up on a couch by herself with her knees drawn to her chest, eyes glued to the screen as her fingers played absently with the stones on her necklace. It was impossible to get involved in the conversation - not that she had any desire to since most of the guests today had been the same ones from the disastrous dinner party a week earlier. All that mattered to her was what was happening on the screen in front of her.

And she honestly couldn't decide which she dreaded more...when the Doctor wasn't on the screen, or when he was. She hated both equally and yet couldn't stop the hitch in her breath every time she saw his skinny, familiar form. Compared to all the other competitors, he just looked so...normal. So unprepared, even though she knew he'd been training relentlessly for the last few weeks. But he didn't have the stone-like protective skin of number Seven, or the extra appendages like number Five, or the terrifyingly useful and deadly teeth of number Eight.

 _He has his brain,_ she remembered suddenly as flashes of different scenarios from the past danced across her memory. Scenarios in which the Doctor and Rose surely would have died had it not been for his quick and clever thinking. That was the Doctor's special weapon above the others. That's what would get him through the Trials. At least, that was what Rose told herself he had to think. Anything she could do to keep herself from going insane with worry was welcome at this point.

"Rose, dear, do try these _kaege-flød,_ they are delicious."

Rose was jolted out of her thoughts by Ilaria's fluid voice. She saw a tray of some kind of cakes appear in her peripheral vision, but she refused to tear her eyes away from the screen, just in case the Doctor came back. They'd just watched him escape competitor number Nine's attack, but who knew what else that crazy, danger-prone Time Lord had gotten himself into now. So Rose just shook her head, mindful of how impolite she was being and unable to actually give a damn.

Ilaria sighed, but when she spoke again Rose could practically hear the smile in her voice. "Yes, of course, quite right you are, dear. You'll want to keep your figure nice and slim. You'll need to be attracting a new mate soon, anyway."

And with that the aristocrat sauntered away, oblivious of the now slightly green-tinted skin on Rose's face as the words swept over her, making her stomach flip over and tears of fear and frustration leap, unshed, into her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recap of Trials competitor order:
> 
> 1 – Sontaran
> 
> 2 – Male with red hair and mischievous cloudy yellow eyes
> 
> 3 – Small female with sharp eyes
> 
> 4 – Zygon
> 
> 5 – Male with four-arms
> 
> 6 – Sinjuray female (feline-like alien)
> 
> 7 – 'Rocky', muscular, stone-like skin
> 
> 8 – Vampire-like female
> 
> 9 – Male with scales, talon like hands
> 
> 10 – The Doctor!
> 
> 11 – Female Aonian
> 
> 12 – Tentacles


	46. Chapter 46

The line of trees finally parted just as the sun began to droop behind the first tips of the mountains in the distance. The Doctor could have dropped to his knees at the sight that greeted him. He wiped a few beads of sweat from his brow and panted harshly through his smile. The ground tipped downwards almost as soon as it left the treeline, creating a shallow ravine with a thin streak of silver careening between the rocks at the bottom. Water. Finally. It had been an hour and a half of walking through the hot, dry forest, and the Doctor was feeling uncomfortably thirsty and heavy with exhaustion.

He glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder, the branch of a tree behind him shifting despite the stillness of the air as if an animal had just leapt from it, before beginning the trek downhill. Thankfully, the ravine wasn't steep at all, and it only took the Time Lord a few minutes of careful footwork to reach the bottom. By then, however, his excitement had quickly dwindled.

Ice. The Doctor frowned as he knelt down beside the still, solid, frozen stretch of water. _How...what?_ He ran a finger over the surface, frown deepening as the cold attacked his bare skin. Lifting his finger off the surface, however, whatever liquid clang to him immediately evaporated into the evening air, which was still _far_ too hot for the creek to be _frozen solid._

The Doctor sat back on his heels, glaring at the ice as if it had personally insulted him. How was that even possible? No matter what planet you were one, ice that cold would not stay that way in this heat for long, but the creek showed no sign of melting anytime soon. If anything, the ice looked like it was getting thicker. Picking up a rock by his knee, the Doctor decided to try hacking at the surface. Maybe he could chip off a few chunks and see if it would melt in his mouth. He couldn't imagine it would stay frozen, but if it did it hardly mattered; ice was still water, and would still do it's job of re-hydrating the Time Lord, even if it wouldn't be as soothing and satisfying on his dry throat.

However, even as the Doctor chipped at the surface and loosened the ice with the sharp edge of the rock, as soon as the shards made contact with the ice again, it morphed right back into the frozen surface.

He repressed the urge to growl and just chuck the rock at the creek in frustration, and instead just closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said in a loud, carrying voice, "You wouldn't happen to know how to get the water to _not_ be frozen, would you?"

Silence met his words, but he still waited, turning slightly to the left as a few pebbles seemed to move on their own. Concentrating on that one spot, the Doctor let his eyes focus, blur, and then refocus on the faint outline of what could be a foot. He followed it up over an ankle, and then a leg, almost invisible and perfectly camouflaged against the rocky shore, until he reached a waist, shoulders, and, eventually, an almost indiscernible face staring back at him. It almost hurt to concentrate on her so hard, like keeping his eyes crossed for an extended amount of time, but if he looked _very_ closely he could almost make out an expression that quite clearly read ' _And why would I tell you?_ '

"Come on," The Doctor smiled charmingly. "I led you to the water. It's only fair you help out."

"If 'fair' is how you're playing the game, you weren't listening to the rules." The Aonian hummed as she knelt just like him only ten feet away, safely out of reach. As she moved her skin morphed again, colors flowing perfectly to match the background, keeping her nearly undetectable. The Doctor just continued to smile, glad she was finally acknowledging him.

"I thought the whole point was that there _were_ no rules."

"Exactly," She smiled devilishly, her teeth standing out eerily like a Cheshire-grin, not able to camouflage like the rest of her skin. "I could kill you right now with no consequences."

At this, the Doctor chuckled and raised an eyebrow. "Please, you've been following me for the last forty-five minutes. If you wanted to kill me, you would have already."

The Aonian - number Eleven, he remembered - simply watched him for a moment, face as mysterious as her real skin color. "You're very good." She finally admitted as one corner of her lips flexed upwards.

The Doctor gave her an appraising smirk. "Not so bad yourself. Impressive contrachroming. Never seen anything quite like it."

"And you never will again. That's sort of the point." He thought she might have tossed him a wink, but it was hard to tell.

"So, the water?"

"I could just let you die from dehydration instead." She suggested, and for some reason the Doctor wasn't as fond of that option.

"I would figure it out eventually." He assured her. "I just wanted to draw you out of hiding."

"Feeling lonely?"

"Yes." The Doctor could tell she was taken aback by his quick, honest response. Eleven stared at him for a moment longer. The sky behind her started to darken slightly as the sun continued it's path behind the mountain. Attention focused on the Doctor, the skin on her face forgot to darken as well, and for a second the Doctor could see her clearly. She had a soft, heart-shaped face that stood in stark contrast to the hardness in her blue eyes, and her short azure hair was spikey and windswept from following after the Doctor's long, quick steps.

As if she could read what was happening in his face, Eleven quickly morphed her skin color back in line, disappearing so fast that the Doctor could have blinked and believed she was gone entirely. The Doctor didn't speak, waiting for her to -

"It's locked in a conformation-state." She finally announced as she turned towards the water, body still angled so she could see the Doctor clearly to the side, daring him to come any closer. She reached for a rock and, like the Doctor had moments ago, began chipping at the surface. Each time a shard of ice broke away and hit the solid creek water, it froze again. "When the molecules come in contact with each other, the minority with comply with the structure of the majority. But if you separate them..." She chipped at the surface again and released another small shaft of ice, but this time it landed in the palm of her opposite hand. As soon as it touched her skin, the edges softened and it began to melt. "The molecules disengage and it returns to a liquid form." Eleven lifted her hand and tipped the small amount of water towards her lips, savoring the taste.

"Amazing..." The Doctor muttered, also turning back to stare, fascinated, at the solid ice creek. He'd never heard of a locked conformation-state, and were he not in such a dangerous life-and-death situation, he would probably be giddy and excited to figure out the science behind it all. Now, however, he couldn't bring himself to be so enthusiastic. It was clearly designed to mess with the competitors, make them frustrated, confused, and desperate. He wondered how many slaves in the past had died from dehydration, not able to figure out the riddle of the water. _None, probably,_ the Doctor answered himself. They were most likely picked off by someone else, first. The weak and the alone.

"You clearly know what you're doing in here." The Doctor found himself saying to Eleven's faint silhouette. "We could go at this together? Two is safer than one."

"Are you asking me to be your _ally_?" He thought she might be raising an eyebrow, but in the vanishing light it was even more impossible to tell. The Doctor shrugged in response.

"I'll watch your back, you watch mine. You're clearly not much of a fighter, seeing as your weapon of choice is camouflage, and like I said before: Two is safer than one."

"Not if one of those two stabs you in the back while you sleep." She responded in a suddenly cold, malicious tone. "I'd expect nothing less than that from Jancon's pet."

The last part halted the Doctor's rebuttal. _Jancon's pet?_ She knew who his owner was? But why would that make her think he wasn't trustworthy? The base of his neck twinged slightly at that thought, and regretfully the Doctor realized _why_.

"I'm not Jancon's pet..." He went to say, but cut himself off almost instantly. He heard something. Something soft and whirling. He spun around, foolishly presenting his back to the other competitor, to stare at a spot in the cobalt sky just over the trees.

"What is it?" Eleven asked, now clearly nervous. The Doctor shushed her with a raised hand, straining both his ears and eyes in the direction the whirling was coming from. It was getting louder. Closer.

" _Snatchers_." He breathed.

Neither of them wasted another moment. Spurred by desperation and adrenaline, they took off together across the creek, clambering up the opposite bank of the ravine. Eleven tripped over a rock, her contrachroming thrown off by the surprise and pain in her foot. The Doctor grabbed her hand and pulled her up, half dragging her along behind him up the hill. The whirling - which the Doctor now recognized as the almost indiscernible sound of hover engines - was getting louder still, coming right towards them. The ravine had been too open, the Doctor chided himself. He should have retreated back to the cover of the forest, not squatting there like some sitting duck.

The two bust into the line of trees and kept going. The edge of the forest was too sparse, you could clearly see the forest floor through the branches from above. They sprinted, heedless for direction. Light erupted in the Doctor peripheral vision. Search lights. So not good! They needed more cover. They needed more cover _now._

The Doctor slammed to a halt, spun, and took off again, dragging the startled and annoyed girl behind him. His eyes had landed on a small outcrop of rock with a shallow ditch dug out beneath it, like a foxes den. It was tiny, but they would just about fit. Without a word, he practically shoved Eleven down into it, ripped up one of the thick bushes growing off to the side with more force than was probably necessary, a dove in beside her, dragging the bush behind him to cover the entrance of the den.

The bush blocked off his vision, both of Eleven and the space outside the outcrop, but he didn't dare close his eyes. He tried to peer fruitlessly through the thick branches of the plant until his field of vision was suddenly flooded with light. It bled through the branches, white tendrils of visible dread striking the Doctor's skin. He didn't dare breathe. The whirling engines were right above them. They were found. They were trapped. The Doctor was going to die like a hunted rabbit hiding in a hole. And if he didn't die...he didn't want to think about it. If Jancon released the virus inside him, there was no way to tell how it would affect his next regeneration, or if he even _could_ regenerate.

His lungs refused to work even as the light drifted slowly away, scanning the rest of the area. He still didn't dare breathe as the whirling got quieter as the snatchers moved further away. Eleven shifted beside him, the branches blocking his view from her rustling slightly in the now quiet night air. He breathed out a "Shhhhh..." just in case, though he doubted there was anyone around to hear any more. He stayed there for a few more minutes just to make sure the snatcher's ship wasn't going to turn around and come back. Eleven stayed completely silent and still the whole time.

Shifting the bush, the Doctor poked his head out slowly. He could hear some sort of night bugs chirping in the background, but no movement or engines. "Stay here." He whispered to Eleven as he crawled out of the den, making sure the branch didn't move too much and reveal the Aonian just in case there was still someone around. Cautiously, the Doctor lifted himself to his feet, straining his eyes and ears. From what he could tell, the threat was over. There was no one around but the two of them.

"Okay," He said a little louder, turning back towards the den. "Okay, I think they're gone."

Eleven didn't say anything or move. The Doctor went to help her move the branch out of the way, but stopped short and instead sighed at the sight on the empty hollow. "And...so are you. Great. So much for allies." Eleven must have slipped out after the Doctor, or maybe that first time she had ruffled the branches of the bush as soon as the snatchers had vanished. He couldn't blame her, though. Alliances could be dangerous. And apparently being _Jancon's pet_ made it even more so.

Exhaustion suddenly sank it's teeth into his bones. He sat down against the rocky ledge of the den lest his shaking legs give out on him. He hadn't managed to get any water earlier, but his hearts were still racing with dread that the snatchers would find him if he ventured down into that open ravine again. His stomach gave a rumble of protest at the fact that he hadn't had anything to eat since the night before and the Doctor was painfully aware that he had no food. He should have focused on that during his hike to the creek. Maybe he could have gathered some berries or roots, maybe snared a squirrel or something if he'd taken the time to set one up.

Instead, the Doctor resigned himself to the unsatisfying meal of a nutrition tablet, pulling the small white pill from the pocket of his trousers. It tasted bland and chalky, but he forced it down his dry throat anyway, knowing the alternatives - starvation, exhaustion, death - were far more unpleasant.

He should have made the trip back to the creek under the cover of darkness, but in the aftermath of the adrenaline spike and everything that had happened that day, the Doctor could barely keep his eyes open. With a few hours sleep he would be back on his feet. The Doctor crawled back into the den, knowing it was probably the best shelter he would find that night, and repositioned the bush in front of the entrance. A couple hours, that was it. That was all he needed. Just a little...bit...of rest...

The Doctor was asleep within seconds of closing his eyes.

* * *

"Snatchers!"

The word caused Rose's head to jerk up, a dollop of chocolate missing the little pastry it was intended for and landing on the tray instead. Out of a lack of anything else to do, a total fear of being around...well, anyone at the moment, and the gut-wrenching anxiety at the mere thought of what might be happening to the Doctor at that very moment, Rose had abandoned the party and submitted herself to helping Mrs. Sihn in the kitchens. But as she glanced up at Chirla's stricken face standing framed in the doorway, Rose abandoned the funnel-like device she'd been using and bolted out after the servant girl.

The kitchens were close in the informal entertainment room where Jancon and Ilaria had retired after their guests had left. It was late by now, and most viewers were only interested in the opening and closing events. They were most likely watch a 'Greatest Hits' reel of all the close calls and horrific deaths that happened over the course of the night, but the night was not over for the masters.

Jancon stood in front of the large screen, arms crossed and expression thoroughly unreadable. He didn't even acknowledge Rose as the girl came barreling into the room, staggering to a halt beside the Prebassador. There on the screen was the Doctor, dressed in his black combat outfit, orange-red still staining his throat from his earlier confrontation with the ninth competitor. This was the first time he'd had screen-time since the terrifying first fight ended, and Rose thought he looked even _worse_ now.

His hair was damn with sweat and his face streaked with focused fear. He was scrambling up the side of a shallow chasm, rocks and pebbles flying at his heels. At first he appeared to be alone but as Rose watched a patch of earth at his side suddenly shifted, flashing a pale skin-tone color in the shape of a person. Rose thought she'd imagined it until the Doctor thrust his arm backwards and grabbed onto what seemed to be thin air. She saw the slide of colors again and was sure there was someone there with him. Someone who looked, now that she was really paying attention, female in figure. Rose couldn't tell was the tingle of emotions she felt in the chest was - (unjustified and selfish) jealousy that he was with another woman, or relief that he wasn't alone.

Daring to tear her eyes away from the screen for a split second, Rose glanced at Jancon and almost flinched at the intensity in his eyes. The screen flashed away to show the snatchers' hovership bearing down on the two figures now attempting to vanish into the trees. A searchlight came on and illuminated a deadly path.

"What's going to happen if they get caught?" Rose found herself whispering before she even knew what she was doing. Another furtive peek at Jancon told her his eyes were still glued to the screen. "What will _you_ do if he gets caught?" She changed her question. She wasn't even sure if he heard her, her voice was far too quiet, too weak, over the din of the television narrator.

There was another strenuous pause as they watched the Doctor dive beneath a sort of outcrop of rock, pulling a bush in behind him to block the entrance. The anxiety-ridden anticipation continued as they watched the snatchers' ship sail by over heard. They stayed in mutual mortified silence as the Doctor crawled out of his hiding place and glanced around, declaring himself safe. Rose let out a breath she hadn't been aware of holding as relief flooded through her. He was safe. He had made it.

Her breath was knocked from her lungs only moments later, however, when Jancon finally turned away from the screen, barely offering her a glance - maybe he felt guilty, maybe he was embarrassed, maybe he was just an ass - and said in a stale, dead voice, "Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answer to, Miss Rose."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recap of Trials competitor order:
> 
> 1 – Sontaran
> 
> 2 – Male with red hair and mischievous cloudy yellow eyes
> 
> 3 – Small female with sharp eyes
> 
> 4 – Zygon
> 
> 5 – Male with four-arms
> 
> 6 – Sinjuray female (feline-like alien)
> 
> 7 – 'Rocky', muscular, stone-like skin
> 
> 8 – Vampire-like female
> 
> 9 – Male with scales, talon like hands
> 
> 10 – The Doctor!
> 
> 11 – Female Aonian
> 
> 12 – Tentacles


	47. Chapter 47

In his dream, he's tied once again to the punishment poles in the servant's yard. His arms are stretched out to either side, revealing his vulnerable skin and leaving him open to the cruel bite of the whip in Jancon's hand. He hisses through his teeth as the lash flicks forward and wraps around his left arm. His skin burns where the leather strikes just below the crook of his elbow - not the sharp stinging pain he was expecting, but sudden, dull, and short-lived.

" _Please. Stop._ " The Doctor feels his mouth moving, but the voice isn't his. It's young, heavy with childhood innocence, but agonizingly familiar. The whip slashes at him again, wrapping around the same spot on his arm. He feels the burn, insistent but not necessarily painful. Not as painful as that voice.

" _Please stop him._ " The Doctor speaks again and a tear falls down his cheek as he recognizes the voice. It is him...but it's not him. Not anymore. Not in so, so long.

Jancon lifts his arm again and the whip lands for a third time in the same spot. The Doctor glances down through his tears. The lash is no longer made of strong, unyielding leather, but a thin, brittle, fragile length of vine studded with rose thorns. The thorns rip into his skin, releasing human-red blood, before the vine breaks into a thousand pieces and shatters at his feet.

Fingers curl around his chin and yank his eyes back forward. The Doctor shrinks away, flinching violently, as Theta glares murderously into his future eyes. The innocence the Doctor had heard is gone, shattered and broken like the rose vine, as Theta leans forward, teeth bared, fingers pinching and cold like death, to hiss venomously: " _Jancon's Pet._ "

* * *

The Doctor woke with a jolt. Propelled by an unexplainable force - fear? anger? anxiety? dread? - he bolted upright like he was on springs, only to fall back down to the ground with a drawn out "Owwww...", cradling his head in his arms. Sometime in his sleep he'd forgotten how low the ceiling on his little den was. Now the throbbing in his skull reminded him.

He stayed like that for a few moments before he remembered his situation. He'd slept far longer than he had anticipated - clearly it was needed - but now was the time to keep going. He was still at least a day or two's steady march to the finish line, and that was without stopping for food, water, rest, or fights to the death. Not to mention being chased by snatchers again.

The Doctor bolted upright again, this time mindful of the hard rock looming over him. The snatchers! The Doctor flashed back to his dream, remembering how to bite of the whip was more of a burn than a sting, always landing on the same place. Right below his left elbow. What if it hadn't only been in his dream? What if someone had been captured and the trigger warning had gone off and...he'd slept right through it? Franticly, the Doctor pressed his finger to the spot anyway, even though the burning had stopped, just in case. Just in case there was still time to save someone.

There was no way to tell if it worked; he would just have to hope. The Doctor stayed there for a moment longer, relishing the dark coolness of the den, holding off the inevitable shove back to reality. His stomach was annoyingly empty, verging on aching, and his tongue felt like sandpaper inside his mouth from lack of water. The Doctor sent out a mental ' _thank you_ very _much'_ to the snatchers for interrupting his water-cooler-time last night with Eleven but then quickly shut off such a thought. He doubted any of the snatchers' ships were equipped with psychic wavelength detectors, but it never hurt to be safe.

"Alright, old man," He finally groaned as he pushed himself onto his elbows. "Time to get up."

The morning was bright and pleasantly warm but the Doctor knew it will only get hotter from this point on. Drawing on the frantic memories from last night, he began picking his way through the forest back towards the ravine. He hated to make himself vulnerable again in such an open position, but he wasn't going to fool himself into thinking he would last very long that day in the heat without hydrating. A quick water break, find something to eat, and then he would be on his way west to the finish line.

At some point the night before he must have twisted his ankle running. It didn't hurt terribly, but he felt a definite twinge of discomfort running up his leg as he tried to navigate down the rocky hillside. Just add that to the ever growing list of injuries the Doctor kept accumulating - it wasn't likely that the list would be getting any shorter anytime soon.

It took the Doctor less than a minute to find a suitable rock and start chipping away at the still-frozen surface of the creek. He wasn't at all surprised to see that it hadn't transformed back into liquid overnight, but to be honest those would have been lofty expectations and Eleven's trick fortunately worked just fine. It was a slower process than he would have preferred, but the freshly melted water was refreshingly cold against his sore, parched throat. A sigh of relief managed to escape him before he was back at the chipping, tongue thirsty for more.

He wish he had some sort of canteen or bottle so he could carry a bit of water along with him. That, however, would be _far_ too convenient. The Doctor sat back on his heels and glanced downstream. For now the creek was flowing west, meaning he could just follow the riverbank and keep near the water source for as long as possible until it verged off track. He knew the creek would eventually curve south, but for now - if he stayed just within the tree line - staying with the creek would be his best bet for surviving this Trial and getting home.

That thought inevitably wandered over to Rose...Was she alright? Was she still freaking out about what he'd revealed to her? Was she watching him? He could practically taste the camosphere in the air - near invisible clouds of tiny collage-cameras whirling about around the arena, taking in every angle and aspect of the Trials - so the Doctor knew he was being recorded. Maybe not at this exact moment, with nothing more exciting than figuring out how to drink water going on -

"Nghuuu!"

Hands suddenly grabbed him from behind. Thick, beefy, red fingers dug painfully into the skin on his face as he was dragged backwards, shouting out through the palm pressed over his lips as he lost his balance and crashed down against the hard rocky shore. His hand was already shooting up to grab his attacker's wrist when the fingers released him, shoving him forcefully away so the Doctor had to catch himself on his hands before his face came in quick contact with the ground. Not wasting a moment, the Doctor leapt to his feet and swiveled around to face...

Himself.

A tall, thin man stood before him with a shock of disheveled brown hair and sharp, ancient matching eyes. The Doctor's reflection smiled, eyes closed leisurely, as he rotated his head to the side, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders. The real Doctor, however, was frozen in place by surprise before the realization finally hit him.

"Zygon?" He breathed.

Competitor number Four smiled even wider, twisting the Doctor's usually charming smile into something mocking and sinister. "You are quick, aren't you? Much better than the last one. All battle, no brains. That's what I get for using a Sontaran, I guess."

"I assume he's dead then." The Doctor responded stonily, not really caring about the Sontaran's well-being as he tried to stealthily move up the bank so he had the higher ground over...himself. Rassilon, this was weird. He didn't really want to attack himself, but knowing Zygon strategy he knew the creature would eventually try to knock him out in order to sustain the connection without it's 'source' interfering.

"Not by my hand." Four replied with a smirk as he simply shifted his borrowed body, cutting off the Doctor's movement with a knowing look. He recognized exactly what the Doctor was trying to do. Four now had all of the Doctor's memories and tactics - so very, very not good. "But I'll have to thank the snatchers for that one...this body is _much_ nicer." The Zygon ran a curious hand down his chest, feeling the muscle beneath the black fabric of his shirt. "Taller, that's for sure. Quicker. Smarter. And..."

The Zygon stopped as his hand ran over the spot just below his left elbow, fingers running over the small, unnatural bump there. The Doctor, now level with Four, fought to keep this face completely blank. There wouldn't be a device under the Zygon's skin, not like his, but the body had still been manipulated into that shape. He just had to hope -

The look of confusion on the Zygon's face didn't last long as, apparently, the creature filed through the Doctor's memories. Fear and realization suddenly flooded those familiar brown eyes as the other hand shot up to the nape of his neck, feeling where the tracker had been injected, knowing what _else_ had been injected as well.

"You -"

 _NO._ The Doctor launched into action before he even thought about what he was doing - he couldn't let Four give him away. Jumping forward, the Doctor struck out with his left hand, catching the Zygon in the chest with the broad side of his forearm. Following the momentum, the Doctor immediately thrust his right fist into Four's now hunched over shoulder. Anyone else, and the strength of the shot would have propelled the joint right out of the socket, but with the Doctor's own superior body the Zygon was simply thrown backwards a few steps, stumbling from the sudden, vicious attack.

Four ducked quickly as the Doctor jumped and aimed what would have been a knock-out kick to the creature's head, right in his matching features. The Zygon launched himself back up and forward, faking a blow with his left hand while angling a hook towards the Doctor's head with his right. Guessing his fighting style - _knowing_ his fighting style, since it was his own - the Doctor managed to block it with an upward jab while at the same time lashing out to grab hold of the Zygon's next quick attempt at catching the Doctor off guard with his other hand.

Holding onto the Zygon's fist, the Doctor pulled him close as he stepped forward and drove his knee into his reflection's hard abs. He heard Four gasp as the air was driven from lungs. Despite his lose of breath, the Zygon used the force of the blow to bow his head forward like a striking snake, aiming to headbutt the Doctor, who simply ducked and twisted, kicking his ankle up in a mule-kick to catch the Zygon on the back of the neck.

That was enough to launch the Zygon back, but he moved too fast - as fast as the Doctor now. Four grabbed both of the Doctor's wrists, pulling them straight out behind the Doctor's back, as his foot slammed into the back of the Doctor's knee. They both toppled over, crying out in identical shocked and pained voices as their bodies struck the round rocks lining the edge of the ravine and tumbled down the wash. The Doctor rolled head over heels, fruitless trying to stop himself. Four gave a loud grunt of pain somewhere around him but the entire world was one big swirl of colors and agony and he couldn't tell exactly where it was coming from. The Doctor flipped forward and cried out sharply as his wrist got caught beneath him at an unpleasant angle.

Finally the slope evened out and the sudden harsh coldness pressing against the Doctor's side when he eventually stopped rolling told him he had landed on top of the ice. A gurgled cough forced its way up his throat and his chest burned in protest to the movement. But he had to get up. His arms didn't want to move but he forced them to take his weight as he propped himself up on his elbows and knees.

He was too slow. Before he could push himself back to his feet, a boot slammed into his side, crashing against his ribs and sending him sprawling across the ice. All he could manage was a moan as the looming figure of himself bore down on him. He couldn't stay there. Nine had already almost gotten the better of him in that position, he had to _get. Up._

With renewed vigor, the Doctor swung his leg around like a windmill, catching Four around the ankle and bringing him crashing back down to the ground. The creek cracked under the force of his fall, sending jagged blades of ice skidding across the surface. Before the blades could conform back into the mass of ice, the Doctor grabbed one and, so fast it didn't even register with him what he was doing, plunged it into Four's side. He had been aiming for the chest, but the Zygon had rolled over at the last minute, attempting to stand. Four let out a howl of pain, features contorted in a scowl of agony the Doctor hoped would never appear on his own face again, as he scrambled defiantly away from the Doctor.

The blade quickly melted, a streak of purple blood-stained water flowing from the wound like an underground spring, but the jagged edges had done their job. Four stumbled as he tried to right himself, one hand pressed to his side as he glared pain-filled daggers at the Doctor. Motivated by anger, frustration, and now pain, Four growled low in his throat and charged the Doctor again. He threw a kick - which missed - and then a punch - which _didn't_ miss. The Doctor staggered backwards, clutching his now throbbing jaw and fighting off the stars dancing before his eyes. Four didn't stop. He pressed forward, aiming another kick to the Doctor's abdomen.

The Doctor side-stepped his heel just barely and ended up facing the same way as Four just behind him. Immediately he swung his right fist up, catching Four beneath the chin, and drove upwards until his elbow was completely extended. He heard a crunch as Four's jaw fractured, and the next moment the Doctor's left hand was jabbing ruthlessly into the fresh, open wound on the Zygon's side. Four screamed in pain, knees giving out, but once again knocked the back of the Doctor's knee out as he went down. The Doctor toppled over as well, landing on top of Four in a graceless heap. It _had_ to be adrenaline keeping Four going as he thrust his knee up and caught the Doctor right in the stomach. The Doctor groaned and fell to his side, quickly rolling as far as he could away from Four until he could get his bearings again when...

A flash of blue shot passed him and pounced on Four. 'Pounced' was the best word the Doctor could use to describe it. A giant blue cat-like creature appeared as if from no where and pinned Four down against the hard ice. Four screamed again as the cat hissed loudly in his face, mouth open to show off rows of incredibly, dangerously sharp teeth. Purple blood erupted along his shoulder and chest where it's claws dug mercilessly into his skin, and the Doctor didn't even have time to look away before those teeth sank into the flesh on Four's neck. Four shrieked and writhed, but the cat could not be displaced. It ripped it's teeth out savagely, bringing with it a good amount of purple-stained skin and muscle, which it spat out with unconcealed disgust. Four's screams had turned to gurgled gasps as more and more of his life-fluid drained from the artery in his neck and pooled beneath him on the ice. The cat slashed his chest open with one giant paw anyway, and Four fell silent forever.

A tense moment of silence followed as the feline stood over it's prey, tail twitching in anticipation of Four showing anymore signs of life. When the Zygon, of course, stayed still and dead, the cat spun around to face the Doctor, amber eyes slanted and filled with fury.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa..." The Doctor started, holding his hands up in a sign of surrender he hoped the newcomer understood. "Easy, it's okay, I'm me, I'm just me."

The cat leapt off Four's chest and prowled towards the Doctor, each of it's paws the size of dinner plates and armed with vicious claws. The Doctor resisted the urge to back away, to run, and instead met the creature's eyes, hands still drawn up. "You're a Sinjuray, right?" He tried, making an attempt at sounding conversational even as his voice shook slightly with exhaustion and anxiety. "Aren't you? And Sinjuray hate reflections, yes? It's okay, I'm not the reflection, he is, the Zygon."

The cat - no, Sinjuray - paused and tossed a glance over her shoulder at the Doctor's motionless double. A threatening growl rumbled in her throat at the sight of it.

"You've been hunting him, haven't you?" The Doctor continued. "Had to get him out of the competition - your only true weakness, wasn't he?" Moving slowly, the Doctor made it onto his knees, holding out a placating hand. "It's okay, you've got him. You've got him."

His voice became quieter, more reassuring as he saw the tension in the Sinjuray's powerful shoulders release a bit. But all too soon the Sinjuray twisted back around to face him, hissing angrily as the fur along her spine stood on end. Her tail twitched as if she were about to pounce again. She didn't believe him.

"Look! See?" The Doctor bent his arm to show her his elbow, along which the skin had been split open by one of the rocks and was now smeared and oozing orange-red blood. "It's not purple. Zygon's bleed purple, don't they? I'm the original, please just..." He looked her in the eye and saw the hatred, the dominance, and the pride all swirling around a base emotion: fear. The same emotion they were all feeling, being thrown into this arena. The Doctor let his shoulders sag. "I can't beat you." He admitted. "I can't...but I also don't want to try. You..." He sighed. "You are simply _gorgeous._ "

And she was. The Doctor wasn't just saying that in some deluded endeavor to win the feline's favor. The creature's blue fur was speckled with black spots, almost like that of Earth's cheetahs, and despite her obvious muscle and irrefutable strength, her body was lean and lithe, graceful even as she stood there contemplating his death. Her eyes were honey-colored and sparkling with intelligence as they stared each other down, sizing the other competitor up.

"I'm so sorry you're stuck in here." The Doctor finally breathed. Sinjuray were proud, strong creatures, but they were, in essence, companion creatures. On their own they lived in close-knit packs and mated with each other for life, and after foreign species began coming to their planet of origin, instead of fighting and generating hostilities between them, the Sinjuray accepted worthy members into their own herds, regardless of species. They craved companionship and when treated with kindness could become the most loyal and dependable of partners. The fact that whoever must have entered her into the Trials most likely broke that trust and betrayed her devotion made the Doctor's blood boil.

The Sinjuray's head lowered slightly, as if accepting his word that he wasn't the enemy, but her ears remained pinned back and her tail continued with swish threateningly. The Doctor nodded and gently lowered his hands. Without taking her eyes off him, the Sinjuray - _Competitor number Six_ the Doctor finally remembered - moved back around in a large arch to stand beside Four's head. She sank her teeth into his shoulder, this time a little more carefully, and dragged the body off the ice and onto shore. The Doctor watched curiously as Six dropped Four's body and began kicking over rocks with her paws until his face was buried beneath a large mound, hiding the fact that his features were the same as the Doctor's. The Sinjuray had always had the strangest aversion towards reflections; they would not enter a room with a mirror in it and none had ever been know to companion with anyone who was a twin. No one really knew the reason behind it...

The Doctor snapped back out of his thoughts at what sounded like sandpaper running over stone. It took him a moment to realize it was actually Six's tongue scrapping over the ice a few yards upstream, far out of the Doctor's reach and away from the blood-soiled surface around him. She was licking desperately at the ice, trying to capture some of the moisture on her rough tongue to no avail. After a moment of prepping his sore body to move, the Doctor hoisted himself back to his feet and, grabbing a rock, stumbled upstream to sit across the creek from her.

Sensing his motion, Six jerked her head up and growled low again, ears tipping back and forth in a warning the Doctor thoroughly ignored, although he didn't try to get any closer. He sat cross-legged on the shore and held the stone out in his open palm, trying to show he wasn't about to use it as a weapon.

"This is how you do it." He instructed and showed her how to separate the ice chips from the rest of the ice. At first Six's eyes were angled with distrust, but eventually they softened as she watched him lift a palm-full of liquid water to his lips and passively offer her the stone. She gave a hiss-like sneer that wasn't quite as fueled with venom as it had been moments before and instead used her claws to pry up bits of ice, catching them on her opposite paw and licking the water off feverishly. The Doctor drank his own fill and sat back, letting his stiff and aching muscles relax. Somewhere in his mind the Doctor knew he needed to get back within the cover of the trees, but when Six stiffened and glanced over her shoulder, bending into a crouch at the sound of a twig snapping, the Doctor found himself saying, "It's okay, I'll watch your back." Six shot him another calculating glance, and then slowly her eyes softened just a little bit more, watching him for the first time without skepticism or paranoia, and went back to drinking, occasionally throwing him a look as if to make sure he was still there.

The Doctor couldn't help but think he may have just earned himself a very formidable ally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 – Sontaran
> 
> 2 – Male with red hair and mischievous cloudy yellow eyes
> 
> 3 – Small female with sharp eyes
> 
> 4 – Zygon
> 
> 5 – Male with four-arms
> 
> 6 – Sinjuray female (feline-like alien)
> 
> 7 – 'Rocky', muscular, stone-like skin
> 
> 8 – Vampire-like female
> 
> 9 – Male with scales, talon like hands
> 
> 10 – The Doctor!
> 
> 11 – Female Aonian
> 
> 12 – Tentacles


	48. Chapter 48

There are very few things the Doctor is not good at.

Baking cupcakes, for example, or any other kind of domestics that involved having an actual kitchen and a house that didn't travel through time and space were big no-nos. Dancing the Veritacian Limbo was definitely high up there on the list as well, along with maintaining any semblance of dignity after only a few sips of Malorce 5's infamous Dirty Dalek cocktail and keeping his slightly crooked nose out of global catastrophes and invasions.

Perhaps highest on that list, however, was suffering through long-enduring silences.

Six was brilliant. She was strong and fast and smart - all of which the Doctor could tell after only a few minutes tagging along with her. But as far as talking went, she was hardly a good conversationalist. For the most part, the Doctor was pretty sure she couldn't actually speak. Or at least she couldn't speak any verbal language the Doctor could understand. It wasn't too difficult to decipher her body language - the way her ears shifted back and forth, how her tail twitched and swayed, the manner in which her shoulders rolled as she moved and her head tilted at she thought - but apart from the occasional growl or hiss, she made no other sound.

Not that there was much time for talking. After she had drunk her fill, Six leapt into action. She sprang into a slow run at first, going only a few strides out before stopping and turning back, looking with a small measure of distrust to see if the Doctor would follow. And there he was, slowing to a stop himself alongside her at a safe distance of ten feet away. He didn't want to crowd her, but he also didn't want to get too close himself. The Doctor had seen those claws in action, saw how easily they could shred through skin and how quickly those jaws could snap and those teeth could rip.

Six looked mildly surprised that he had managed to keep up with her long strides, but the look was quickly wiped from her slanted, feline features and a mask of guarded indifference replaced it. She inclined her head - as if to say " _Alright, you can come_ " - and took off once again. The Doctor wasn't about to let an alliance slip by him - even a tentative and distrustful one. He was already feeling the dreaded pull of loneliness, and having another competitor on his side would keep him focused and prepared, give him a goal besides fighting and killing. If he could help someone else survive this ordeal, how could he be expected to pass that up?

Somewhere, the Doctor was sure, Jancon was staring at a screen and shaking his silver head at his competitor's soft heart. That small bit of rebellion was just the spark he needed to sprint after Six, a smirk gently twisting his features.

They had been running for nearly two hours now. Their pace was no longer a sprint, but Six's gait was incredibly long and the Doctor was starting to have to push himself to keep up. His legs were beginning to burn and his lungs ached as he drew in each shallow breath. Usually he would have been able to go much longer than two hours, especially after all the training he'd just gone through back at the estate, but the little sleep he got and the lack of food was starting to take it's toll. The pair stayed mostly with the tree line, running within the shade of their branches and away from the prying eyes of the sky, but they kept the creek just within view to their left. It twisted and turned through the slight hills, as frozen as ever, but for now, at least, it was running in the same direction as they were. the Doctor felt his eyes lingering on the silver surface of the ice more and more, tongue parched and throat rough. His shins were starting to feel like someone had taken a battle axe to them and was ramming the dull edge against the bone with each step he took. Hating himself, he knew he needed a break.

Six raced beside him just out of arms reach, legs coiling beneath her and then springing out in a full-bodied gallop. At moments, all four paws would be off the ground. She still appeared fresh and energized, as if she could keep going for hours more. The Doctor just had to push himself farther. Pumping his arms a little harder, he managed to pick up the pace a bit. His entire body seemed to groan as he forced himself to keep up. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, a memory suddenly flared up of treadmills and cattle prods and metal grated floors. He imagined the cattle prod coming towards him, urging him to keep running upon threat of pain. It had worked then, it had kept him running far longer than he was capable of or willing to do, so why shouldn't it work now?

 _Because you have your own will now,_ something told him from another corner of his mind. At the thought, the Doctor slowed a bit, mesmerized for some reason by the idea. He had his own will, so why was he running to the point of collapsing again? That couldn't be healthy? How was killing himself going to help him win the Trials?

The answer was obviously obvious - _Obviously obvious,_ the Doctor thought with an internal laugh, _what a fun saying -_ and he saw no reason why they should keep running after all. They weren't chasing anyone, no one was chasing them, and pretty soon they would have to stop and check they were even still going in the right direction anyway.

The Doctor raised his hand to shoulder height as he slowed his pace, asking silently for Six's attention. He saw her ears flick backwards and eyes tilt towards him in annoyance, but nevertheless her pace slowed. Gradually they both came down to a jog, and then a walk. Six barely seemed to be breathing hard, but it wasn't until then that the Doctor realized just how loudly he was gasping for breath. A spot between his ribs started to ache each time he inhaled and he pressed a hand to it. Six's ears angled down questioningly.

"I think -" The Doctor gasped, cutting himself off to take a few breathes in between words. "I think - we could use - a short break - yeah?"

The Doctor could have sworn Six rolled her eyes at that, but she inclined her head again nonetheless. The Doctor nodded his thanks in return before stumbling down the hill towards the creek, graceful as ever.

Six remained at the top of the ledge just outside the shade. She paced back and forth, eyes scanning the area, as the Doctor knelt beside the ice and chipped away at it, freeing one tiny sip at a time. His hearts quickly slowed down their frantic beating, recovering fast as he'd been trained to do. A few mouthfuls of the clear, cold liquid was all he really needed, but the Doctor washed down a few more chunks of ice, knowing that soon their path would have to verge away from the water source.

His stomach contracted and gurgled as he drank, water now being the only thing in his gut. The Doctor was feeling the hunger more keenly now, but he doubted Six would be up for stopping again for a while. The sun still had five or six hours left in the sky, and with her feline eyes the Doctor was sure she would still be able to see in the dark and wish to keep going. Despite the scene she'd made with Four, the Sinjuray undoubtedly preferred being a runner to a fighter. Her species was one of peace - which, the Doctor reminded himself as he watched her powerful, muscular silhouette march across the hillside, was once earned and maintained through ferocity and blood.

Regardless, he did agree with her tactic: getting to the finish line was the priority, then you could deal with any obstacles that get in your way.

The Doctor chipped one more piece of ice off the creek and raised the now liquefied chunk to the wound on his neck. Carefully, he rubbed the water into the gash, trying to keep as much of the liquid in his hand as possible, cleaning out the cut as best he could. Once satisfied, he pushed himself back to his sore feet, wiping the sleeve of his black shirt across his mouth.

"You should drink, too." He told Six, who jumped at the sound of his voice and spun around with a feral hiss. Apparently she hadn't been expecting him to approach her again. The Doctor kept his features calm and relaxed, showing her she had nothing to fear from him. "The finish line will be off to the west, and the map showed the river turning south-east eventually. We should hydrate while we can."

The snarl was slow to dissipate, but eventually only Six's eyes were scowling, not her face. She took a wider path than necessary around the Time Lord before bounding down to the creek, leaping over a narrow section so she wouldn't be drinking with her back to him. The Doctor just gave her another nod as she glanced, distrustfully, back up at him before digging one of her claws into the ice, prying up a thick splinter, and catching it in her mouth.

The Doctor scanned the ridge, just as Six had while he was drinking, taking in any potential threats. The trees were thinning out now, giving way to long blades of thin, almost gold-colored grass and clusters of large gray rocks. The change of scenery was more than a little concerning - less trees meant less coverage, and only about twenty minutes earlier they had heard the mechanical hum of a snatcher's ship vibrating through the air. The good news was that the engines sounded quiet and far away, never crossing their path directly. Neither had the Doctor needed to cancel an injection. Apparently it had been a slow morning for the mercenaries playing cat and mouse with their unwilling toys. He kept his eyes peeled nonetheless, searching the ground, the remaining trees, and sky of any enemies. None of the competitors in the ship's hold appeared to have wings or the ability to fly, but he didn't want to take any chances.

His stomach grumbled again, angry and insistent. There was nothing but dirt, bark, and what looked like pine needles but smelled like peppered fennel in the area; nothing he was starving enough to attempt eating, that was. He reached into one of his pockets, fingers fiddling with the edge of the nutrition pack which held the five remaining pills. He would be able to last a few more hours before needing _something_ , and he weighed the pros and cons of popping one of the bland white pills in right now. They weren't all that encouraging. Pro: He wouldn't die of starvation that night. Con: He would still _feel_ like he was dying of starvation that night.

Choosing to ignore them for now, the Doctor slipped his hand into a different pocket, pulling out the compass. He spun on the spot slowly, watching the arrow spin around the tallied edge. They were heading a little too south - the creek must have already started to verge off course. They would have to leave it soon and start going true west until they reached the ravine etched on the map. It was a good thing they stopped when they did.

Something blue caught the corner of the Doctor's eye and he swiveled around, clutching the compass tight in his fist as they rose up automatically into a fighter's stance. Six stood there at the top of the slope a few feet away, eyes glistening in harsh amusement. " _Don't like it when it happens to you, either?"_

The Doctor tucked the compass securely back into his pocket and ignored the look. "We're going to have to start heading west soon." He said, pointing in the correct direction. "I'd give us another half hour or so before the river bends too far south to keep following. Did you drink enough?"

Six inclined her head again. At least the Sinjuray had no problem understanding him; that would have caused all sorts of fun charades games. How exactly does one mime out 'Please don't eat me, I'm old and bitter and in love' in a universal language?

The answer didn't come to him, but his stomach decided just then to pipe in with its own form of a universal language. The rumble started low and raised to a crescendo, embarrassingly loud. Clearly his belly didn't like the fact that the only thing it had been fed in over thirty hours was water and blood. Six's head tilted to the side, not out of annoyance this time, but from confusion and - no, that can't be right - concern(?).

The Doctor just gave an apologetic wince. "Yeah, sorry, haven't really had a chance to - "

What he was going to say next got jammed in his throat as a sudden shrill, piercing, inhuman scream rent the air. The Doctor's hearts froze, his blood ran cold. Six snarled and spat, jumping back and falling immediately into a defensive crouch with her tail raised and bristled above her arched back. His eyes darted back and forth between the trees trying to find he source of it when,

Another scream, not quite as shrill as the first but a deeper, more drawn out cry of agony punctuated with loud, breathy gasps the Doctor's ears could only just pick up. Whoever it was was close, which meant so was the attacker. Six gave a low growl of unease.

Pressing a finger to his lips, the Doctor pointed in the direction of the scream. Curiosity and - no, he would not admit it - terror propelled him forward, down the rest of the slight hill and over the creek onto the other side. The scream sounded like it had come from just over the ridge, which from where the Doctor stood appeared to fall off abruptly. He crept up the side of the hill, registering the movement of blue behind him as Six leaping over the water, keeping low to the ground. He dropped all the way down as his suspicion was confirmed - the hill ended in a cliff about eight meters tall. And the cry had come from just below where he crouched now.

Six crawled up beside him, hunter-silent, as the Doctor managed to pull himself as close to the edge as he dared. The scene that appeared beneath him made his hearts stutter and leap into his throat. Eleven slouched weakly within the hold of what looked like a humanoid rock wall, supported beneath the shoulders as her knees crumbled uselessly beneath her. The coloring on her skin was patchy and scattered as if trying to capture multiple different backgrounds at once, and for a moment it flickered like an image on a scratched DVD before stopping all together and melting into demoralized red. She looked so much like Lalay in that moment the Doctor almost couldn't breath.

Eleven wasn't alone though. Another figure, slight but surprisingly tall with hair as dark as pitch that contrasted too sharply with her ivory-white skin, stood directly in front of her, her cruel smile visible even from afar. Two streaks of black liquid dribbled down competitor number Eight's chin, perfectly matching the twin holes in Eleven's neck that oozed out the same colored blood. Eight ran her tongue over the sharp edges of her cuspids and down over her bloodstained lips. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened.

Then the Doctor heard the rock wall rumble, a noise that almost sounded like a laugh, and realized he was looking at competitor number Seven - or 'Rocky' as the Doctor so _fondly_ named him on the shuttle ride over. "It's getting heavy." Seven thundered, his voice sounding like an earthquake.

"Good." Replied Eight. "Are you getting sleepy, dear?" She cooed as she sauntered even closer to Eleven, who visibly tried to shrink away but didn't seem capable of doing anything more than whimpering loudly. "Do you feel like telling us now?"

"I-I d-d-don't know." Her words were slurred and trembling as if it were a battle just to say them. "I h-haven't see-seen him."

" _Liar._ " Eight hissed as she struck out and grabbed Eleven's chin in her long, chalk-white fingers. She leaned in close as if to bite again, but instead pressed her nose against the hollow beneath Eleven's ear. Eleven gave a choked cry and screwed her eyes shut, trying desperately to lean away from Eight's terrifying teeth. For some reason she didn't seem able to move, and the Doctor wondered what else those teeth were good for beside shredding and tearing.

Those teeth were out again, scrapping against the thin skin along her neck, barely needing pressure to rip through and create two lines of bleeding black. Eleven cried out in anguish again, head thrown back against Seven's solid chest as he gave an earth-shaking chuckle. Without even realizing it, the Doctor pushed himself onto his hands and knees, getting ready to -

Something _slammed_ into his back, pinning him to the ground. The air was driven from his lungs with a pained _"oof"_ and for a second it felt like his spine was going to snap. Something _heavy_ was pressed between his shoulder blades, making regaining his breath an almost impossible struggle.

A low, threatening growl was rumbled directly into his ear and the Doctor's entire body tensed. He had forgotten about Six sitting so close to him, her own sharp fangs perilously close to his neck. He chanced a glance in her direction, eyes swiveling around as far as they could with his face pressed into the ground, to see her amber orbs glaring at him not with hatred or anger, but in warning. " _Don't move. Don't make a noise."_

For a brief moment the Doctor felt a flare of anger and almost burst out, "She needs our help!" before realizing...what _exactly_ was he planning on doing? Jumping down the nearly thirty foot cliff? Taking on Drusilla and Rocky all by himself? Provided the fall didn't break his legs, much less paralyze or kill him, he honestly didn't believe he would come out on top of that situation. Seven was quite literally a mountain, and Eight was...well, nightmare worthy to say the least.

After a short staring contest the Doctor finally nodded his agreement. But Six's paw stayed firmly planted on his back, clearly not trusting him to keep his word. Whether her caution was out of concern for his own well-being, or worry that his outburst would draw their attention to her instead, the Doctor wasn't sure, but he really wished she would at least ease up on the pressure.

"I smell him on you." Eight was speaking again. The Doctor turned his attention back to the crowd below. Eight licked a line of blood off Elevens collarbone with a satisfied and sinister smirk. "He smells as pretentious and haughty as his owner. Now tell me," She moved her grip from Eleven's chin to her throat and glowered. "Where is Jancon Ligtech's pet?"

For the third time that day, the Doctor's hearts stopped. He felt like the ground beneath him had fallen away, leaving him floating above a fatally long fall. The heavy paw on his back tensed and he felt the sting of four claw slightly - probably subconsciously - pierce through the fabric of his shirt and nick his skin. If it weren't for the rushing sound in his ears, though, he probably would have cared a lot more.

"I d-d-don't kn-n-know." Eleven all but sobbed. Her body was completely limp at this point, but tremors ran throughout it, making her limbs convulse and shake. Seven gave an ungodly roar and shook her even harder, boulder-sized hands clamped around her upper-arms. Eleven cried out again. "I don't! We t-talked! That's all! He r-r-ran one way and I went t-th-the other! Please! I swear!"

"When was this?" Eight questioned unkindly, removing her hand from Eleven's throat.

The Aonian girl sobbed openly. "Y-y-yesterday. P-please..."

"Was he following the water?"

Eleven didn't respond, just trembled and cringed away. The Doctor had seen it earlier: she was a runner, not a fighter. She would never have been able to compete with these two. Her owner was cruel for even trying.

Eight struck out and slapped her across the face. "Was he. Following. The water?" She enunciated each word with a hiss.

"Yes! I th-think so! Please!"

Eight made a short nodding motion towards Seven, who released Eleven only long enough to move his hands to either side of her head and twist. The _crack_ was near deafening to the Doctor. Eleven's trembling stopped. The red of her skin vanished, replaced by empty, hollow white.

Seven pushed the body away and she fell like an unstrung puppet, crumpling to the ground. He pointed a stony finger at the heap. "You going to feed on it?"

Eight made a face and wiped the back of her hand across her chin, rubbing away the Eleven's black blood. "No. It tastes disgusting. Just leave it, the worms are even going to want that crap."

The Doctor and Six watched in horrified silence as the pair turned and left, Eight still scrubbing blood off her lips. It took a moment for the Doctor to realize he was panting, chest heaving and pressing further into the dirt as if he'd just run a few extra miles. He felt sick, and he couldn't tell if it was hunger or horror that left the hollow, gnawing feeling in his stomach. He was being hunted. Specifically. They were searching for _him._ Targeting _him. Jancon's Pet._

The paw retracted from his back, but it did nothing to help him breath. He still felt as if no oxygen was reaching his lungs. He turned his head, not daring to move any more, to find Six staring at him, her eyes wide and questioning with the familiar glint of distrust. She had clearly understood everything Eight was saying, everything that was going on at the bottom of the cliff. And she was asking him, silently, the same question the Doctor was asking himself.

_"Why?"_

The Doctor wasn't even able to shrug. He felt numb and abuzz all at the same time, hearts beating a million miles a minute, breath constricted, stomach rolling. All he could do was shake his head, eyebrows furrowed.

"I have no idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 – Sontaran
> 
> 2 – Male with red hair and mischievous cloudy yellow eyes
> 
> 3 – Small female with sharp eyes
> 
> 4 – Zygon
> 
> 5 – Male with four-arms
> 
> 6 – Sinjuray female (feline-like alien)
> 
> 7 – 'Rocky', muscular, stone-like skin
> 
> 8 – Vampire-like female
> 
> 9 – Male with scales, talon like hands
> 
> 10 – The Doctor!
> 
> 11 – Female Aonian
> 
> 12 – Tentacles


	49. Chapter 49

"Wait, wait, wait..."

The Doctor pleaded as he collapsed against a tree trunk, fingers grasping at the bark as his legs threatened to give out. Black spots danced across his vision and he screwed his eyes shut against the dizzying tilt of the world around him. He clung onto the trunk, nails digging almost painfully into the soft bark to keep his body from crumbling to the ground. "I can't...just...a moment." He panted heavily into the wood.

Six slowed to a walk and circled back from where she'd run a few feet ahead. For once she didn't look completely impervious to the fact that they'd just been sprinting flat-out for the better part of two hours. Her blue fur was dampened with sweat and her fanged jaw hung open slightly as she breathed more erratically than before. Six glanced over her shoulder in the direction they'd just been running from, ears quirked forward, then turned back to the Doctor. She looked him over with amber eyes that seemed to shine and glow in the fading light and nodded once. The Doctor sighed with relief and allowed himself to collapse to the ground, breathing hard. They'd been running harder than ever, trying to put as much distance between themselves and Seven and Eight as possible. But as the sun sank lower, so did the Doctor's stamina, until he was tripping and stumbling over thin air and was blinded by spots of darkness dancing before his eyes.

With a huff, Six began to prowl back and forth in front of the Doctor. Pacing seemed to bring the Sinjuray comfort, the Doctor noticed, as her breathing slowed gradually and her steps became more relaxed. Thinking back, he wasn't sure she'd ever seen her stand still, unless it was the deadly stillness that came over the feline right before a pounce. Occasionally she would glance back up their path, shift her ears, or raise her head and sniff the air. Once he finally managed to catch his breath again, the Doctor asked, "Can you smell them?"

The Sinjuray turned to look at him and, after a moment of consideration, moved her head back and forth. It was a strange movement for her, made awkward by her short neck, but at least she was making attempts to speak in a language the Doctor understood, which was more than the Time Lord could say himself.

The Doctor nodded and went back to focusing on keeping his breath even, which proved to be painfully difficult when his stomach kept churning and spasming every few seconds. The hunger pains were getting worse, and even though he knew they wouldn't help relieve the ache, the Doctor reaching into his pocket and fished out the little package of white pills. He needed _something_ just to keep him going. He had never felt hunger so intense so quickly. Back in Eyal he had gone nearly a full week without anything but water and the occasional crust of stolen bread. Here, however, he was living a different story. Maybe it was the constant running, the constant worrying, the constant fearing that made his metabolism rocket and his stomach clench with need, but he was quickly finding himself in a place where he couldn't worry about anything else besides filling the gaping hole inside him.

The packet popped open and with shaking fingers the Doctor poured one nutrients capsule into the palm of his hand. Six padded towards him curiously, head tilted to the side and ears slightly tipped down. Her nose twitched as she sniffed the air around the Doctor's hand. Confused, the Time Lord opened his fingers, which at some point he had balled into a fist, and Six came the closest she'd ever been to him voluntarily to nose at the white pill and -

With a snarl, she raised her paw and swatted at the Doctor's hand. He just barely managed to jerk his arm back in time - thanks to his Time Lord reflexes - so her half-extended claws missed his knuckles by a hair. "Whoa, hey!" The Doctor protested indignantly as he cradled his hand against his chest. "What was that for?"

Six hissed, narrowing her round, amber eyes as she glared at where the capsule hid beneath his protective fingers. "It's a nutrition pill." The Doctor explained without releasing his grip. "One capsule holds enough vitamins and nutrients to get the average humanoid through a day without needing food. Well, I say _needing_ food, but really it's more like - "

Another hiss as Six awkwardly shook her head again. The Doctor just frowned. "I...I don't understand." He hated to admit. "Is it...not?" He couldn't see how that could be. It had worked before. He was still starving, but his basic functions had endure throughout the day. Had the pills not contained the proper nutrients they should, he would have dropped a _lot_ sooner than he had.

Reluctantly, the Doctor stretched out his hand, fingers uncurling from around the capsule as he offered it silently to the Sinjuray. Six nosed it gently, sniffing the round white tablet, before leaning back and baring her teeth. The Doctor felt his stomach drop.

"Poison?"

Six shook her head.

"Drugged?"

After another quick sniff, Six backed away and gave the Doctor a telling look. And for some reason, all the Doctor could do was laugh. It was a hollow, broken, groan of a laugh, but he couldn't keep it from bubbling up as his lips cracked into a mirthless grin. He let his hand fall limply, knuckles bouncing off the dirt by his side and sending the dismaying pill leaping out of his palm. The Doctor let his head fall back against the tree trunk as his laughter wore itself out as quickly as it had come.

"Really, Jancon?" He called to no one in particular, face tilted towards the sky as if his master were looking down on him from the steadily rising moon. "Really? This is how you think you're going to win? You're a bigger fool than I ever imagined."

His voice pitched in the middle of the last sentence as his stomach seized angrily. He curled his legs up closer to his body, instinctively folding into a fetal position against the tree. That might explain his exhaustion and heightened metabolism. If there was something in those pills his body wasn't used to and was attacking him from the inside out, it could temporarily halt his natural defenses against starvation and asphyxiation. He felt the ghost of Nine's fingers around his throat, the creature's body on his chest pressing the oxygen from his lungs, and remembered how his respiratory bypass had failed to kick in fast enough. How he was succumbing to hunger far faster than he should without the auto-reserves fueling his system. But... _why_? What would be the point?

"I'm going to die." He suddenly found himself saying, eyes sliding shut as if half expecting it to happen as soon as the realization hit him. He felt only slightly pathetic wallowing in his own tragic demise, even if only for a moment. "The last of the Time Lords, lone survivor of the Last Great Time War, starved to death as a slave."

Six, who had begun pacing again, merely rolled her eyes. As if being able to sense it, the Doctor cracked open his own with a self-conscious wince. "...Bit overdramatic?"

Six didn't deign him with an answer. Instead, she stopped her pacing and eyed the tree at the Doctor's back. Then, calmly and collectedly, She crouched low and leapt. The Doctor gave a startled shout and ducked as the cat landed and latched onto the tree trunk only a foot above where the Doctor's head had just been, bits of bark raining down on him as she clawed her way up and into the tangle of branches overhead.

By the time the tip of Six's black and blue striped tail disappeared within the leaves, the Doctor could barely hear her anymore. He sat there in a sort of stunned stupor as the eerie silence pressed against him, almost too afraid to breath in case he broke whatever bizarre spell just fell on the night. His lips had fallen into a comical 'o' as his eyes darted from one branch to another. "Ummm...Six?" The Doctor winced at calling the Sinjuray by a number rather than a name, but there was no helping it.

No response. The Doctor waited with baited breath, not entirely sure what had just happened or what he was expected to do next. The silence stretched on until, suddenly, an ear-splitting SQUAWK broke the air. The Doctor jerked his head up as the branches erupted with movement and three birds - large, frantic, and the exact color of the leaves - burst from the leaf cover and shot into the sky. And then there was Six, launching herself after them, body stretched out in flight as her front claws reached for the frightened birds. Two of them managed to flap their way to safety out of the cat's grasp, but one was not so lucky. Six snatched the bird out of the air with both front paws and with liquid fluidity twisted over in thin air, moving her catch to her mouth just in time to touch back down to the ground, graceful as ever.

The Doctor just stared as Six walked casually over to him and dropped the bird in his lap. The creature was dead, neck snapped and very little blood on its moss-colored feathers. Unable to think of any other response, the Doctor just glanced up at Six and said, "Well, now, _that_ was over dramatic."

* * *

The night was inexplicably quite by the time the Doctor finished off the last of the bird. He collapsed backwards with a satisfied groan, savoring the lingering taste of the strangely sweet meat, and felt pleasantly full for the first time in days.

Six was laying a little ways off on the other side of the slowly dying fire the Doctor used to cook the bird. Blood stained her front paws where she gripped the last remaining bit of a creature that once looked like a large rabbit, ripping strips of flesh from the delicate bones. She, of course, didn't bother with the fire, preferring her meat raw, fresh, and bloody.

The Doctor had no idea where she found their prey. Though he could sometimes hear the faint trill of birds in the trees during the day, he had never actually seen one, nor had he seen traces of those rabbit-like animals. He had come across the tracks of a much larger, much heavier animal on his first day in the arena, but the prints had been old and without any proper weapons or hunting gear it would probably have been incredibly difficult to take down a creature that the Doctor guessed had to be some sort of bear-sized deer. How _that_ was hiding from sight was a whole other question.

Six finished off her rabbit-thing and spat the last long bone out of their little ring of fire light. Even though she sat on the other side of the campfire, as far away from him as she could while still feeling the flame's warmth, Six seemed far more relaxed. She sniffed the air, her tail twitching testingly before falling still.

"No one nearby?"

As if to answer, Six rolled onto her side, wiggling and stretching with her eyes closed. The Doctor had to hold in a laugh. She looked very much like an oversized housecat at that moment, but he had a tickling feeling that if Six ever found out he thought that she'd redecorate his face with her claws. The claws already painted with blood, which she was now licking off with her large, rough tongue.

"Shouldn't think so, there can't be many of us left." The Doctor kept going as he absentmindedly itched at the spot on his left arm. The alert had flared up a few minutes earlier – another snatcher doing their job – eliciting a sharp hiss from the Doctor as he had forgotten, once again, just how strong the warning pulse was. The sound caused Six to glance in his direction, amber orbs glistening with questions, but the Doctor managed to pass it off as accidentally burning himself on the still hot bird and the topic was dropped.

"We know the Sontaran – Number One – was taken," He continued as he settled onto his back, shifting away a stone that was stabbing into his shoulder. The stars flickered and winked above them, weird constellations in weird places. It took the Doctor a few moments to figure out where, exactly, they were in the galaxy. Judging from the location of the quadrants, it was far, far away from Rose.

"He's probably dead by now. That's why the Zygon had to take a new form –" Six growled at the mention of the globby impersonator. The Doctor huffed. " – Yeah, that was embarrassing. I definitely shouldn't wear all black; I didn't realize how washed-out it makes me look."

The Sinjuray growled again, although this time it sounded more exasperated than angry. The Doctor held back another snort. "And now we know the Zygon's dead, thanks to you." Six grunted agreeably. "Along with the Aonian." The image of Eight sinking her unnatural teeth into the girl's throat made the Doctor shudder and shut his eyes to the stars stares. Those last two deaths he had seen in person, and the death of the Sontaran was easily confirmed by Four's need for a new body to impersonate, but he'd felt the virus being release three times now. One of those was the Sontaran, but the other two…there was no way for him to know. Hopefully, if the anti-virus worked, they were still alive but out of the running.

"Do you know of any others?" The Doctor asked out loud. Six looked at him curiously. "Just so we know what we're up against."

Six considered for a moment before unsheathing her now clean claws and digging them into the ground. The Doctor had to lean up on one arm to see what she was doing from around the fire. Nine deep gashes had been dug into the dirt. "Number Nine?" A flash of talons and scales flitted across the Doctor's memory. His throat was still achy and sore from the encounter. Six nodded and then slashed another line through the others. "Dead?" Six nodded. "You killed him?" Shaking her head awkwardly, the Sinjuray drew three more lines in the dirt. "Three killed him? Which one was Three again?"

Six shot him a glare with no real fire in it, but the Doctor understood. Yes, that question was probably a bit too intricate for their weird game of Pictionary. "Was that the female with the strange eyes or the male with four arms?" Six blinked at him pointedly and that seemed to be her answer. "Alright, so four-arms was probably number Five then. Blimey…" The Doctor collapsed again. "Once we get out of here, I never want to hear another number ever again."

Six yawned in agreement. Glancing over at her, the Doctor saw the great cat's eyes drooping slightly, as if she were fighting to stay awake. Her shoulders were less tense than before and her tail twitched almost leisurely, getting more comfortable where she lay, but her ears were still pitched forward, listening and aware. It made the Doctor wonder, "When was the last time you got any sleep?"

Six's whole body lurched at the question. She glared at him for a moment, clearly trying to analyze what he meant by the question, but the glare couldn't last. It slowly slipped from her features as her eyelids slowly began to close again, which was enough of an answer for the Doctor. "That's what I thought. Get some rest, I'll take first watch."

A low grumble came from Six's throat, but the Doctor cut her off. "You got me dinner, probably saved my life. Actually, no, you _definitely_ saved my life. That Zygon was starting to get the upper hand until you came around. So…let me thank you by taking first watch. Now go to sleep."

Six made another attempt at arguing, but it was only half-hearted and she sounded more like a child demanding that they weren't actually sleepy than anything else. "Rest. Now." The Doctor ordered one last time as he sat up and pressed his back to a tree trunk for support. "And don't worry, I'll wake you up in a few hours anyway. I'm not sacrificing my whole night for you."

He shot her a smirk at that, which she responded to by baring her sharp teeth, but she was already settling down with her chin on her front paws, exhaustion clearly working against her. The Doctor felt it pressing against him as well, but having food in his stomach and someone to watch over gave him the energy to stay awake, even as Six's breathing evened out and the Doctor was left, more or less, alone against a night full of enemies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 – Sontaran  
> 2 – Male with red hair and mischievous cloudy yellow eyes  
> 3 – Small female with sharp eyes  
> 4 – Zygon  
> 5 – Male with four-arms  
> 6 – Sinjuray female (feline-like alien)  
> 7 – 'Rocky', muscular, stone-like skin  
> 8 – Vampire-like female  
> 9 – Male with scales, talon like hands  
> 10 – The Doctor!  
> 11 – Female Aonian  
> 12 – Tentacles


	50. Chapter 50

Rose woke screaming. She would need a few extra pairs of hands and feet in order to count how many times that had happened over the last few months, but not for a while had it been so bad. Her heart hammered in her ears and felt as if it was trying to escape her body all together and instead got lodged somewhere in her throat. How the scream managed to get past it at all was beyond her.

It took the human a few long, terrified moments to remember where she was. She sat bolt upright in bed, sheets tangled and twisted around her ankles like woolen shackles, staring into a room bathed in a strange velvety glow coming from some unknown light source. It was her room in the Estate, as exquisite and expensive looking as ever, but now the walls seemed to press against her, closing in, trapping her. The air was too thick, too hot, too absent. Rose couldn't breathe, even as she panted and gasped, chest heaving with desperate gulps for oxygen. She felt like she was dying.

_Rap, rap, rap._

Rose flinched viciously at the sudden noise, subconsciously pulling the corner of the blanket further up her chest as her eyes jerked towards the door. There was a slight _click_ and the door was pushed open half an inch. Rose's heart kept beating faster and faster and faster but her lungs had forgotten how to breathe. Who was there? What did they want? Did they...did they want _her?_ She searched around quickly for a weapon, anything, something to protect herself with, but all she could find were the fluffy slippers she'd taken off next to the bed and the gemstone necklace the Doctor had given her sitting innocently on the bedside table.

"Rose? Are you decent, my dear?"

The soft cultured voice was familiar, but it did nothing to soothe Rose's post-nightmare terror. "Y-yes..." She barely managed to whisper.

The door swung open further to reveal Jancon's powder white head and charcoal face. His features were turned down in a concerned frown as he caught sight of Rose, still clinging to the edge of the duvet as if it were tethering her to the planet. "May I come in."

Rose didn't bother to give an answer, Jancon was already stepping over the threshold. He glanced over at her uncertainly, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his midnight blue dressing gown. "Are you quite alright, Rose? I was passing by and heard a scream coming from your room."

Unable to meet his piercing white stare, Rose glanced down at her fingers and shrugged. "Nightmare." She answered simply.

Jancon made a small noise of understanding. Slowly he paced around the bed and perched carefully on the opposite side of the mattress from where Rose sat. Without thinking about it, Rose felt herself leaning away, blood seeming to freeze at his proximity. Jancon watched her skeptically.

"Is it something you wish to talk about?"

He meant it kindly, but Rose couldn't see it that way. She shook her head in a few sharp jerks and continued refusing to look up. Why did he have to be sitting here, on her bed, in her room, alone, so close...

"Is it about John?"

" _I said I don't want to talk about it_." Rose snapped. Horror seeped into her throat the moment the words left. She hadn't meant to lash out like that! She clutched tighter at the blankets, as if the warm layers could protect her from whatever incurring wrath was forming inside her master - no, not master, but the man sitting next to her nonetheless, on her bed, in her room, alone, so close...so strong. What could he do to her?

The sudden spike of anger was as much a surprise to Jancon as it was to Rose. His eyes widened at her outburst, eyebrows darting up for a moment. But then his features relaxed, becoming almost solemn, and he tipped his head down obligingly. "Yes, of course you did. My apologies, Miss Rose, I simply aimed to help."

Still shaken, Rose just nodded her head. A few seconds of silence passed by them, Rose silently wishing Jancon would leave, his presence still doing nothing for her lingering night terrors, when the Prebassador spoke again.

"While we are on the topic, however, you may be pleased to know that your mate has survived yet another day in the Trials. Of course, there are many horrors of the night that cannot be taken lightly either, yet John seems to have developed an alliance with the She-Cat to ward off the dangers of the dark. Provided she doesn't sink her fangs into him while he sleeps, first."

Making himself comfortable - despite how unwelcome he actually was - Jancon leaned back into the pillows, arms raised over his head to cradle the back of his neck. Rose didn't move, not even daring to shift away as he seemed to settle in. "I would not have advised him to make an alliance such as this." Jancon continued. "Too many variables, too many opportunities to lower your guard and surrender yourself to a sly and sinister death. But I must admit I do see the benefits of keeping a companion close, and the She-Cat seems to have taken a liking to our John. He is quite the charmer, wouldn't you agree?"

"Why are you here." Rose asked hollowly.

Another pause. "I had hoped to comfort you with news of your beloved. You left the viewing many hours ago seemingly distressed, and then as I pass by your room I found you woken and terrified by a dream. I had assumed you feared for him and desired reassurance. If I have been mistaken, forgive me. I have no experience with settling the intense and intricate range of human emotions."

"Reassurance." Rose repeated, blowing a puff of air out through her nose in a short, humorless laugh. "You're trying to reassure me by telling me the man I love, the man _you_ enslaved, survived a day of being attacked, hit, beaten, starved, forced to run for hours, nearly killed more than once...but oh wait, that was the easy part, for the night is dark and full of terrors." There was the anger again, rearing it's ugly head and gnashing it's teeth. It was just so unfair, and the man next to her was the cause of all of it. "And you sit there, actin' like you're so concerned for his safety, meanwhile you've been poisoning him this whole time."

That was the moment Rose had decided she'd had enough and stormed out of the viewing room, frustration and rage battling with her newly rediscovered anxiety over everything around her. She just didn't understand how Jancon could possibly expect to win _anything_ when he was insistent on handicapping his star player! And that look on the Doctor's face when he'd realized he had been tricked and infected again...Rose couldn't bare to watch it. The heavy press of guilt hadn't left her since. In a way, it felt as if she had abandoned him for real, had turned and ran at the exact moment he really needed her. There was no way the Doctor could have known Rose was watched, but it still felt like a betrayal to the human girl.

"If you are referring to the pills I provided for John, I had no intention of impeding his health or safety. I insist, I had no idea of the side effects that would occur." Jancon rolled onto his side and leaned up on one elbow, watching Rose casually. "You asked me yesterday what would happen should John be caught by the snatchers. I do not expect you to understand the politics behind this whole crusade, but I will not lie and try to convince you that I would not trigger the reaction in his trackers should John become compromised. That being said, I have not wholeheartedly abandoned him to a horrible fate. While also acting as a nutrients tablet, I had envisioned that the substances in the pills would help to slow the spread of the virus John created in the event of his capture. I was attempting to help him, to offer a possible means to survive. You see, Miss Rose, I am not a cruel man, and I had hoped you would have come to realize this on your own by now."

"Not cruel? The whip scars on my back say otherwise, the dozen or so on the Doc - on John's - "

"That was not cruelty, my thorn. A lesson needed to be taught, and often simple words are not enough to solidify in a slave's mind. And once again, I apologize profusely for bringing you into that. It had never been my intention to hurt you, Rose, you must know that. You are more a guest in my home than anything else, and I would hate for you to come in harm's way."

"But that's just your problem." Rose's eyes finally snapped over to Jancon's, looking at him for the first time since he'd entered the room. Her heart still hammered at the base of her neck, but Rose felt more resentment now than fear. "It's not right, what you're doing to us. And it's not fair. Slavery, everything, how you pick and choose who's better than who. It's sick! Why am I given a suite in the palace, offered fancy clothes and gourmet meals while he's locked in a three-by-two meter cell, forced to do a job he despises, whipped, beaten, drugged? I'm no better than him. Why am I treated like a princess when he's treated like an animal. He doesn't deserve that! No one deserves that! I didn't deserve that."

What had risen into a crescendo faded off with that one whispered sentence, more like a gust of air that had fallen from Rose's lips than actual speech. No longer able to hold Jancon's stare, Rose dropped her eyes to her lap once more where her fingers had begun to shake. The silence that followed her outburst was almost painful, Jancon's eyes on her bare shoulders sharp and penetrating. For a long moment she regretted even opening her mouth, thinking silence on her end would have been far more tolerable than silence on Jancon's, when the prebassador finally spoke.

"Would you rather be moved to the slave quarters?"

He sounded almost disappointed, sorrowful even, at the idea. Or perhaps he was confused? Either way, Rose shook her head.

"You're missing the point." She sighed. "It's slavery that's wrong, not my room." Rose pulled the blanket up further over her shoulders, protecting them from Jancon's continued perplexed stare. "Do...do you mind? I'm tired."

The prebassador frowned, studying the human for a moment longer, before giving a short, single nod. "Of course. I am sorry to have caused you distress. Know that your words have not been greeted with contempt." He stood from the bed. "Sleep well, my Thorn." He said before slipping out the door and shutting it quietly behind him.

Rose stared at the beautiful dark wood for several long minutes after he left, willing her heart to calm down. She had lied, she'd never felt less tired in her life. Fear and adrenaline still coursed through her, but she didn't think she would have been able to stand a moment longer of Jancon trying to justify their captivity and torture.

She missed the Doctor. He had lied to her, manipulated her, kept her in the dark, treated her like she was made of finely spun glass rather than as the girl who had saved the universe over and over again, but Rose still missed him. She was alone and terrified, and he was alone and dying, and _nothing was fair._

Feeling hot behind the eyes, Rose shimmied further down into the bed, snuggling deeper and deeper into the lush pillows as if she could disappear into them. Gingerly, she reach out onto the bedside table, fingers tracing over strangely warm metal and stones, and grabbed the Doctor's necklace. She pulled it close to her chest as she brought her knees up, curling into a ball, and hoped the tear drops now staining her pillow would be dry by morning.


	51. Chapter 51

About twenty minutes after offering to take the first watch of the night, the Doctor greatly regretted his decision. Now, three hours later, the Time Lord wanted to go back in time and punch his three-hour-and-twenty-minute younger self almost as much as he wanted to go to sleep. The fire had burnt itself down to smoldering embers and cast their little cliff-side shelter into a strange, orange-tinted darkness that failed to illuminate much beyond, and the dimmed light made the Doctor feel even more drowsy. Between the lighting, his finally full stomach, his sore legs, pounding headache, and raw and aching wounds, sleep sounded like a dream he would never be able to achieve.

 _One more hour,_ he told himself as he glanced over at Six. The Sinjuray was curled into a furry blue ball with her back to him, spine moving slowly as she breathed. In another hour he would wake her up to switch shifts. Just one more hour.

Sketched out into the dirt before him was the rough outline of a map. The Doctor drew it from memory of the diagram he'd managed to glance at before being pegged, adding in a few specific details he'd picked up on his own: a gnarled tree he'd seen the day before, a cluster of boulders they had scrambled through earlier, the muddy marsh that had formed around the creek when the thick tree cover faded out into grassy hills. Working backwards, the Doctor was able to figure out exactly where he had been pegged, where he'd met Six, and how much further they still needed to run to reach the finish line.

About twenty-two miles and four competitors to go.

Twenty-two miles and, if they reached it, then the real trouble would begin. Because there could only be one victor of the Trials. Only Number Six or Number Ten would win, there could be no other option. The Doctor's eyes shifted towards Six's sleeping form again. He didn't like to think about it, but he needed to plan. If they both made it to the finish line, the Doctor would have to figure out something to do with the Sinjuray. He didn't want to kill her - he didn't want to even hurt her - but she was too clever to trick and too distrusting to allow the Doctor to bring up a compromise without removing a few of the Time Lord's more important organs.

But now matter what it took, the Doctor _had_ to be the one to cross that line first. Sure, Jancon had promised that no matter what happened, victory or defeat, Rose would be taken home, back to Earth, or at least to a nearby planet she could charter a shuttle from. Perhaps Six was rubbing off on him, though, because the Doctor found himself highly doubting the prebassador's words. He had seen how Jancon looked at Rose - not sexually, thank Rassilon, otherwise the Doctor would never have allowed Rose to stay behind with him alone - but it was clear Jancon and Ilaria had grown very fond of the human girl. They had taken her in, treated her like kin, like family, and the Doctor couldn't tell if they would be able to give up with exotic houseguest just because they had promised a deceased or defeated and shamed slave. He needed to win her freedom the only way he could.

Even through the death of someone he hesitantly dared to call a friend?

No, no, he would worry about that later. The night was dark, the woods quiet, and the danger felt so much more present with his back pressed protectively against the cliff wall. He had to remember himself. He was the Doctor, the last of the Time Lords, a nine-hundred year old genius...he would come up with something. He always did.

The Doctor glanced up at the sky, looking for the tell-tale lights of the snatcher ships. The stars above looked wrong, the constellations unfamiliar. He had stayed far clear of this system for near four hundred years, not since his sixth incarnation accidentally kidnapped the princess of Stimlan (the silly girl had crawled into his TARDIS and hid, totally not his fault!), started a one-man, twelve-front war (seriously, how did a slaver planet have so many allies?), inadvertently set all the slaves in old Eyal free (okay, _that_ he wasn't apologetic for), blew up the headquarters' city (they kind of deserved it, though), and married the king of Drephesh's betrothed (that saucy minx!). It was a good thing he no longer had that face; he wouldn't have been surprised at all if that bounty on him was still active...maybe, if worse came to worst and they were out of all other options, he could turn himself in and make sure Rose received the money. With four hundred years of interest accumulated, that would be more than enough to get Rose home and ensure she and any family she might have would live comfortably for a long, long time. He would do that for her. Anything for her.

Captivity. Torture. Death. Anything.

Good lord, he was getting morbid in his fatigue. He worried about what his dreams had in store for him when he could finally get to sleep. Even now he could hear Rose's voice echoing as if from the trees, high and terrified, calling for him. The Doctor brushed it off. It was a trick of his mind, of both longing and fear, that he couldn't submit to.

Her voice called to him again, louder, more desperate, and suddenly Six's head shot up. The movement startled the Doctor out of his thoughts, jolting him back to reality. Six looked poised, muscles taut, staring fixedly out into the trees. The tip of her tail flicked agitatedly. She was so tense she could have been vibrating.

"It's okay," The Doctor said quietly, assuming she had just been stuck in a lingering nightmare. "There's nothing out there, go back to sleep."

The only sign he got that Six had heard him was the momentary twitch of her ears back towards him. Otherwise she remained, statuesque, watching the woods, as if waiting for something.

" _DOCTOR!_ "

The Doctor launched to his feet just as Six leapt up and bounded with a roar into the trees. "Rose..."

It was her voice. It hadn't been in his head. It was her voice, somewhere, somehow, here, in the woods. But...how? Why? Where?

" _Doctor, help!_ "

It was coming from the same direction Six had taken off towards. The Doctor jumped over the dying fire and sprinted after her, after Rose. She was scared. She was in pain. He could hear it in her voice. She needed him. He needed to find her. Right now. The questions kept playing over in his head as he ran, leaves and branches whipping at his sides, ears straining, listening for her. How? Why? Where? Where? Where?

" _Help!_ "

Another roar from Six, just as desperate, searching, and the Doctor froze.

Why?

Why would Rose be here? Why would Jancon allow it? Why would she be calling for him, for the Doctor, using his "real" name when she knew he had to go by John? Why would she be here?

She wasn't...

She wasn't real...

" _DOCTOR!_ "

She wasn't real. He heard a growl, leaves snapping, and saw a blur of blue shoot passed him. Six was hunting for Rose, too, but...why? Why would she act so frantic to find a human she had never met, a human she never even knew existed?

The sound came again, but this time the Doctor was ready for it. He closed his eyes and _listened._

It was like trying to tune an old radio. There was Rose's frequency, calling to him, but as he listened harder, tuning into the wavelengths, he heard something else. A distressed, high-pitched whine, like a whimper, animalistic and frightened - the cry of an injured Sinjuray.

The Doctor heard Six answer the cry but forced her noise out. There was something more in the sound. He spun in a circle, trying to pinpoint where it could be coming from. Broken branches and trampled brush indicated where Six had gone, no longer stealthy in her need to reach whoever was calling out to her like Rose was to him. The Doctor jogged after her, ears still straining, waiting for -

" _Please!_ " " _Reeeeeowwwwww." "Pok^d ne km'e!"_

And then the Doctor knew exactly what he was chasing.

A Siren.

One of the competitors was a Siren.

"SIX!"

The Doctor took off, pushing himself harder now after his feline companion. She was running into a trap, they both were. He was right, Rose wasn't there, she never had been, and neither was whoever held the voice speaking to Six. He pumped his arms harder as he skirted passed brambles and leapt over exposed roots and bushes. He listened but couldn't hear anything else, at least not over the commotion he himself was making. The Doctor stumbled to a halt, trying to keep his gasping as quiet as possible. Where had Six gone?

After a moment he heard a dull growl coming from a few meters to his left through a thick wall of branches. He was about to move, to jump in a stop Six, get her out of there and away from the threat, when another thought suddenly struck him still.

_Why?_

He...he could just...walk away. It would be easy, he could just turn around, go back to their camping spot and just...leave her. Let Six and the Siren duke it out themselves, why did he have to be involved? If Six won then great! One less competitor to have to deal with. And if Six lost...well, that would solve his problem at the finish line. Keep his hands clean of it. He wouldn't have to worry about tricking her or fighting her himself, he could just...walk away.

There was another growl, more like a shriek, and this time he knew it came from Six. _Just go. This doesn't have to be your fight, Doctor, just leave,_ he tried to tell himself, and his feet almost even began to move back out of the woods when another _hiss_ and a heavy _thud_ reached his ears.

The next thing he knew, the Doctor was crashing through the branches towards the sound. When the leaves finally cleared he found Six sprawled on the ground, head lulled to the side and eyes faded with confusion. Something was on top of her, something small and humanoid pinning her dazed body to the ground. The thing spun its head around to look at him with cloudy, sickly-yellow eyes, red hair standing up boyishly from its head, and it smiled mischievously.

" _Hello, Doctor._ "

The Doctor saw it's lips moving, but all he heard was Rose's voice, spilling sweetly passed that impish, threatening grin. The Doctor didn't even take a moment to think. He launched himself at the creature, tackling it off Six and into the ground. The Siren moved faster than he had anticipated, rolling out from under him so the Doctor fell face-first into the dirt. The creature - Number Two, the Doctor's mind supplied unhelpfully - sprung back to it's feet, laughing, giggling the way Rose used to when they were alone in the TARDIS, joking about some misadventure they'd recently had.

" _Oh, Doctor, so violent._ " It purred in her voice. _"Do you like it rough, Doctor?_ "

The Doctor growled and jolted back to his feet. Six was slowly rolling to her side, movements lethargic and unsure. The Doctor set himself up in a fighting stance, legs spread a shoulder's width apart, arms raised and ready to strike, but the Siren merely leaned casually against a nearby tree, arm dangling over one of the sharp lower branches. It laughed again.

" _Are you going to take me roughly, Doctor?"_ Six was barely making it to her feet. The Doctor would have to take this one on his own. The Siren smirked. " _I'd let you, you know._ _Take me down. Pin me down. Just like you let them do to me."_

He knew the voice wasn't real, he knew the Siren couldn't really know what was being said, he knew no one else could hear the words spoken like a knife to his ribs, but it didn't matter. He flung himself into action just as the Siren leapt towards him. Something glinted in the creature's hand, something sharp like a treated rock, and the Doctor narrowly avoided its edge. The Doctor struck out with both hands and latched onto the wrist holding the weapon, squeezing and twisting as he twirled passed the Siren, hoping to get behind it and wrench it's arm behind it's back. But the Siren merely spun with him, arm twisting unnaturally like a snake in his grip, and somehow the Doctor ended up being the one with his arms wrenched behind his back. With surprising force, the Siren shoved the Doctor forward.

The Doctor collided with the solid trunk of a tree, nose breaking immediately on impact and head ringing. He stumbled to the side, almost falling as his vision swam in and out, but managed to grab onto a branch to keep himself up. The Siren chuckled as it slowly walked towards him. " _Can I tell you a secret, though...I kind of liked it._ "

It leapt towards him, weapon slashing towards the Doctor's stomach. Thinking fast, the Doctor grabbed onto another branch and hoisted himself up, muscles straining to hold his legs high enough to avoid the stone. Not a second later he launched himself out of the tree, falling like a spear on the Siren, knocking it back to the ground.

" _YES! JUST LIKE THIS!_ " It cried in Rose's voice, disgustingly seductive in a way the Doctor could never have imagined. His fist swung on it's own accord, knuckles crashing into the smirking face. The smug smile vanished as yellowish blood stained the creature's teeth. It glared up at him, all humor gone. " _That wasn't very nice._ "

"Ohffff!" Something slammed into the Doctor's ribs, hard enough to whack him off the Siren. Blood dripped from his nose down his chin and he could taste it's metallic bitterness on his lips. He rolled over as quickly as he could, trying to put as much distance between the creature and himself as he could. The Siren stood up and stalked towards him, anger now lacing it's movements. The Doctor stayed on the ground, counting it's footsteps, waiting...

When it was close enough he struck out, ramming the heavy, flat edge of a rock into the Siren's ankle with all the force he could muster. There was a gross _crack_ and the creature cried out, momentarily switching back into what the Doctor could only assume was it's real voice. The Siren collapsed to one knee as its broken ankle no longer wanted to hold it's weight and the Doctor shot to his feet. His knee collided with the Siren's face and it fell backwards with a yowl, but not before it's arm arched up and slashed a long but shallow cut all the way up the Doctor's leg, from shin to hip.

The Doctor gasped and lurched backwards. He knew it wasn't deep or even remotely lethal, but it still stung like hell. The Siren was already trying to get back to it's feet, cradling it's head where a bruise was already forming. Even so, it still moved far faster than the Doctor could have anticipated. It twisted, pulled it's arm back, and flung the weapon towards the Doctor. It missed him by a fraction of an inch. If the Doctor had not stumbled slightly to the side, trying to balance on his bleeding leg, it would have struck him clean in the chest. With a growl, the Doctor hurled himself forward, grabbing the Siren by the neck with both hands, spinning, lifting, shoving, and -

_Thud._

The Siren made a desperate, gargling noise as if trying to speak, but nothing was going to get out. The Doctor took a step back, panting, and let go of the creature. The Siren didn't even move, held up by the piece of bloodstained wood now sticking out of it's throat. Yellow blood dripped off the tip of the branch and trickled down the tree's trunk behind it. The Doctor took another step back and wiped his own blood off his face. The Siren choked and reached out towards the Doctor, but it had already lost it's only two weapons: the stone and it's voice. It struggled fruitlessly until blood drenched it's front and it's eyes faded to a misty, empty white.

The Doctor just stood there, gasping for breath as he watched the life leave competitor number Two's body. He didn't feel any remorse. He couldn't allow himself to. Taking another shuddering breath, he rubbed more blood off his chin and turned to face Six. The Sinjuray hadn't made it back to her feet yet and she looked barely conscious.

He should just leave her; he really, really should. The snatchers might get her and then she could survive. Or another competitor could find her and she would be killed...and it wouldn't be his problem.

He knew what he was going to choose before he even asked.

Ripping a long strip of cloth off his own filthy, torn shirt, the Doctor made his way over to Six's prone form. She must have heard his footsteps for she began to struggle weakly, trying unsuccessfully to move away from the potential threat. "Shh, it's okay, it's just me." The Doctor assured as he knelt down beside her. Six remained tense for a moment before what little fight she had remaining finally left her, letting the side of her head fall back to the ground. The fur around her left forehead was matted and sticky with blood. Whatever the Siren had done had clearly broken skin and there was no doubt she had a concussion.

"I need you to stay awake. Do you understand me?" The Doctor instructed as he carefully folded the cloth. Six made a short huff sound that would just have to pass as affirmation. "I'm going to wrap your head to try and stop the bleeding. Please don't bite my hand off."

Six made another little huff that could almost, maybe, a little bit pass for the sound of a laugh and nodded her head slowly. Carefully, the Doctor helped the Sinjuray hold her neck up enough for him to wrap the cloth awkwardly and one-handedly around her head. He would need to check it again once they had more light and time. He tied it off in a tight knot over the main source of the blood, hoping the pressure would help clog the wound and stop the bleeding. Six was silent and still for the whole thing, just barely awake.

"Come on," The Doctor finally said after an eternity of tense silence. He stood up, brushing dirt from his trousers and trying not to stare at the three different colors of blood staining his hands. "We can't stay here. Can you walk?"

Clumsily, Six managed to push herself onto all fours. She wavered for a moment, looking like she was going to collapse again, before finding her footing. Hardly daring to try, the Doctor laid a hand on the Sinjuray's broad, strong shoulders to help steady her. While immediately going tense at first, the feline eventually relaxed, allowing the Doctor's hand to direct her forward as she stumbled and tangled her legs as she walked.

The Doctor didn't lead them back towards the campfire though. There was no point in going back - they hadn't left anything necessary there and the sky would soon start paling with the incoming morning. Instead he turned them South, down towards the finish line, slowly picking their way over roots and branches in the direction of what the Doctor hoped would be a water source to wash the murder off his hands.

So much for getting any sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 – Sontaran
> 
> 2 – Male with red hair and mischievous cloudy yellow eyes
> 
> 3 – Small female with sharp eyes
> 
> 4 – Zygon
> 
> 5 – Male with four-arms
> 
> 6 – Sinjuray female (feline-like alien)
> 
> 7 – 'Rocky', muscular, stone-like skin
> 
> 8 – Vampire-like female
> 
> 9 – Male with scales, talon like hands
> 
> 10 – The Doctor!
> 
> 11 – Female Aonian
> 
> 12 – Tentacles


	52. Chapter 52

The sky was covered in a thick, steady sheet of clouds that morning. They almost blocked the sun out entirely, leaving the Doctor and Six in a strangely elongated twilight. Rain threatened them continuously as they made their way further south and the Doctor wondered whether it would fall frozen like the creek or remain in liquid form. The physics behind the forced conformation-state was fascinating - and the Doctor forced himself to think so in order to ignore the sores on his feet, the gash up his leg, and the droop of his eyes.

Over the hours Six got better at finding her feet. Nonetheless, they kept their speed to a walk, both too injured and exhausted to push themselves to the same level as the day before. If the Doctor's speculation was correct, anyway, there were only two other competitors in the arena, and for some reason the Doctor didn't think getting to the finish line was Seven and Eight's priority.

_No,_ _you're_ _their priority,_ he unfortunately kept reminding himself. That irksome little voice in the back of his head was getting more and more morbid with each passing minute, and the Doctor realized it was getting easier and easier to agree.

Despite the heavy cloud cover and threat of rain, it was almost unbearably hot. The air was thick with humidity and each breath felt like it was half oxygen and half water. Sweat saturated the Doctor's hair and permeated his clothes to the point where it didn't even matter if it started raining – he was already soaked through, bring on the storm.

What really concerned the Doctor was his feline companion. She was also damp with sweat, thick blue fur slicked back and dark with moisture. Her yellow eyes were still a bit unfocused from the earlier concussion and she was back to being jumpy and guarded around the Doctor. He tried not to be too bothered by the loss of her hard-won trust, knowing he would have to betray her anyway if he was to get out of here victorious, but a primal part of him was still desperate for companionship. He had never been good at being alone.

Just the thought sent a pang of anxiety through him. Stress simmered so close to the surface these days, triggered by the smallest careless thought, and the lack of sleep and security over the last few days has done next to nothing to settle the nervous reaction. The Timelord closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose, counting as he did so.

The scent of sweat and forest floor was strong and familiar by now, but there was something else there, too. It wasn't the metallic odor of Eight or the minerals he'd detected from Seven, but there was something striking and enticing about it. Like decaying waterbed weeds and wet, nutrient-rich mud – the kind only found around pools of liquid water.

"Six, do you smell that?" The Doctor asked, stopping suddenly and holding out a hand.

The Sinjuray jerked away and growled, apparently thinking the Doctor's reach came far too close, but soon lifted her head and sniffed the air pensively. Her powerful jaw fell open slightly, her tongue darting out to test the air as well, eyes closed with subconscious longing.

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too." The Doctor murmured. "Come on."

He sniffed the air again like a dog, following the slimy, mineral-y scent. Luckily there weren't many trees in this part of the arena, the forest trickling off into the hilly golden fields of rock and grass neither of them were keen on exposing themselves in. But the promise of that smell drew the Doctor away from the protection of the tree cover and Six followed, sniffing at the air as well, paws moving faster than they had all day.

Abandoning the forest, the plain of dying grass began to roll and pitch into sharper hills, forcing the Doctor and Six to scramble up the side of one of the many plateaus to follow their noses. The struggle was generously rewarded. At the base of the hill, impossibly, snaked a river of clear, _moving_ water. The liquid whistled as it moved over and between rocks, lapping at the muddy shore the Doctor had smelled earlier and rumbling as it dropped down among the crevices of the shallow canyons.

Six didn't hesitate. She leapt forward, ignoring the Doctor's shout of caution, practically rolling down the hill in her haste to reach the river. The Doctor launched himself after her, desperate with thirst just like the Sinjuray but wary of what the river meant. Six clearly did not share his concerns. Without slowing down the feline surged into the water, leaping further into the river until only her head was visible. Brown, red, and a murkey substance the Doctor knew was sweat leached off of Six and flowed with the current away from her body, showing off how filthy the competitor had been.

The Doctor longed to join her, feeling the stickiness of sweat and blood on his skin stronger than ever before in the prospect of being rid of it, but he still approached cautiously, uncertain. He knelt down, uncaring of the damp mud sinking into the knees of his trousers, and scooped up a handful of water in the palms of his hands. Bringing his hands to his face, he took a deep, calculating sniff, searching for any additives or poisons in the liquid. Nothing. Tentatively, the Doctor stuck his tongue out and dipped its tip into the water. Nothing. He took a sip, swirled it around his mouth, over his tongue, against the front of his teeth, and spit it back out. Nothing.

"This can't be right…" He muttered to himself.

Six had move even further into the river, head bobbing up and down as she was forced to swim in its depths. The Doctor had never know Sinjurays to be keen on swimming, but Six looked happier and more content that he had seen her since they'd met. She seemed to have no reservations about the quality and safety of the water, unconcerned by the sudden change in conformation.

The Doctor waited until she swam back to the shore and slowly waded out of the waves. She shook her entire body, water flying in all directions and splattering over the Doctor. She then turned around, crouched down, and started lapping at the edge of the water. The Doctor watched her, waiting for any signs of worry or distress from the feline, but none came.

Finally, when it seemed Six had drank her fill, she turned to the Doctor, brow furrowed as if asking _what are you waiting for?_

"Don't you think it's a little suspicious?" At Six's lack of visual response, the Doctor continued. "This entire time all water sources have been locked in a conformation state. They're deliberately trying to make it difficult and dangerous for us. And then suddenly, on the final stretch, we come across a part of the same creek we were chipping at earlier and it's _fresh, running water,_ not ice."

Six's frown deepened and she grumbled a little.

"I know, I just tasted it and didn't find anything wrong either. But…" The Doctor paused, glancing up stream where the water was running unperturbed by ice. "Something just doesn't feel right. Why would they make it easy on us now?"

Six gave a very human-like shrug and began drinking again. After a moment she glanced at the Doctor, eyes expressive and obviously trying to communicate with him. The Doctor shrugged. "Alright…I'll try it."

His thirst could hardly be ignored now, anyway. After losing so many fluids between the bleeding and the sweating, the Doctor was severely dehydrated. Drugged or not, the Doctor was going to have to drink. It didn't make him feel any better about the prospects, but it was really his only available course of action.

And the water tasted _amazing._ He could practically feel his organs rehydrating as he carefully swallowed the mouthful. It was like no treat he'd ever received before. Even at Eyal, when he was being starved into submission, he had always been allowed as much water as he needed to survive the cruel treatment. Jancon and the Trial organizers had not been so kind…until now.

Suspicious still humming through him, the Doctor helped himself to another handful of water nonetheless. And then another. And another. There seemed to be no slowing now, his thirst coming back with a vengeance. It took a great deal of willpower for the Doctor to stop himself, knowing that if he drank too much too quickly he would be sick. And he couldn't afford to lose the meager food he'd managed to eat the night before. He leaned away from the water, resting back on his elbows and enjoying how the coolness of the damp bank soaked into his clothes. It might get unpleasant later when it dries, but for now it was a blessing against the muggy heat of the day.

Six had finished drinking her fill as well. She sat back with her haunches in the water, methodically dipping her right paw in and then rubbing it against the congealed blood on her forehead. The water washing off her paw was tinted pink. The Doctor was content to just watch her for a while as he eyed the ever darkening spread of clouds moving quickly towards them. With the sun hidden, it was difficult for him to get a proper read on what time it was. The Timelord closed his eyes and reached inside himself, feeling the turn of the planet and the tug of the multiple electromagnetic poles cancelling out each other's reads. It was sometime in the mid-afternoon – that much he was sure of – but the feeling of the planet's fields were unfamiliar to the Doctor, so he couldn't be sure.

It was comforting nonetheless; the feel of the planet's rotation, the positioning of the stars, the ever-changing dynamic of the universe around him – all so familiar and addictively foreign to him at the same time. He pulled further into himself, meditating on Time, feeling its impact on those around him. The stress it put on Six, separated from her partner and her clowder for so long, the hum of the trees and chattering lifespans of the creatures flitting between them. Time bent around his own subconscious and unraveled with possibilities and aches. He longed to be back with Rose and, after so long apart, his need for the TARDIS and everything it stood for in his lonely life physically hurt. This far away in the universe the Doctor couldn't even feel her presence. He reached out further, stretching for the time vortex…but felt nothing.

The plip of something thick and wet hitting his cheek startled the Doctor out of his reverie. His eyes flew open and sought for Six, thinking she'd just splashed him , but the Sinjuray was a few meters up shore, too far for drops to have reached. Then he felt it again on his hand. Then again on his other cheek. The dark clouds had finally reached them, spilling fat drops of water down on the two competitors. The Doctor leaned his head back and sighed as the rain began to fall heavier. It was refreshingly cool compared with the humidity of the afternoon, and the Doctor just couldn't bring himself to be bothered with finding shelter. He was already soaking wet with sweat. At least he would be getting a shower.

He heard a splash and peered over to see Six pouncing into the creek. The rain was creating perfect ringlets on the water's surface, like miniature waves, and at first the Doctor thought Six was trying to hunt them. He couldn't help a slight chuckle. Cats were cats were cats it seemed. Six coiled up and pounced again, sending water flying everywhere, and then quickly stilled, watching the water with all the intensity of a tracker.

The suddenly Six pounced again and resurfaced with a large flailing fish between her jaws. She leapt onto a nearby rock and shook her head expertly, breaking the fish's neck. Carefully inspecting the fish, Six got back to her feet and jumped from boulder to boulder back to the Doctor's side and plopped the limp, bleeding mess of scales in his lap.

"Thanks…"

Six gave a grumble in response and bounded back to her fishing spot. The raindrops must have drawn the fish closer to the surface because only a few moments later Six had a fish of her own. Instead of breaking its neck, Six brought it back to the shore and unceremoniously began eating, letting blood and fish oil run down her chin.

The Doctor glanced down at his own fish and felt a swell of emotions rise up in his chest. The kill had clearly been intended for him, carefully done in a similar fashion to the bird from the night before. Six had kept his eating habits in mind, fed him before herself, thought about him to begin with…

The Doctor now felt even more retched about almost leaving her behind to die. She was better than him. She deserved better than him.

Knowing it would be impossible to start a fire in this rain, and with no sufficient shelter in sight, the Doctor braced himself for a very bloody, fleshy raw meal. He forced himself to his tired legs and trudged closer to the water. He washed the blood and dirt from the fish's scales, found one large flat rock and a smaller, sharper edged stone, and got to work messily skinning the creature. The rock could barely penetrate the scaly skin and he ended up hacking at it rather than slicing.

Six had finished her meal by the time the Doctor had his own de-scaled enough to be edible. She lay down, chin resting on her folded front paws, and yawned deeply. She was clearly exhausted and the Doctor let her sleep, feeling the pull of fatigue on himself as well. He focused instead on his hunger and got back to work.

* * *

The kitchen was never a quiet place, except perhaps in the dimly lit hours of predawn after the night servants replace the last newly-gleaming pot on its shelf and before Mrs. Sinh starts up the morning fires. But at the moment, with the last sun teasing the distant mountains with its setting rays, the kitchen was as loud and chaotic as ever. Knives wielded by practiced hands chopped through vegetables with lightening speed, cooks hauled pots of boiling liquids from one burner to the next, shouting warnings as they moved, and young assistants darted around elbows stirring and hands passing ingredients up and down the counters.

To the casual observer it was lawless mess, but as Rose watched from the doorway, presence so far unnoticed, everything turned into a hypnotic dance – timed, choreographed, and performed perfectly.

Mrs. Sinh stood at the back of the room arguing loudly with the head chef. He was a rather portly alien who used his weight and boisterous voice to push the other cooks and assistants around. Mrs. Sinh, however, refused to be cowed by him even as he brandished his massive butcher's knife to accentuate his point. Apparently Mrs. Sinh was willing to give her life in order to ensure roasted _hauvskillpud_ – whatever that was – made it onto the dining table that evening.

Enraged, Chef finally threw his hands up, viciously growling "Fine! Disrupt the entire menu! I hope _his majesty_ enjoys eating cream of _waln_ with his _hauvskillpud,_ because I have no time to rearrange everything! Now get out of my kitchen!"

"We'll see how long it remains _your_ kitchen!" Mrs. Sinh huffed as she spun away on her heels. An assistant nearly crashed into her but quickly scampered away, reciting apology after apology, in the wake of her glare. A glare that finally found its way to Rose. "What is it?" Mrs. Sinh sneered, clearly in no mood to cater to the wide-eyed human.

Rose plucked at the stones around her neck – a nervous habit that took no amount of time to develop. The feeling of the cold opaque gems against her skin was as comforting as holding the Doctor's hand. Strength surged through her at the thought, giving her the ability to not wilt beneath the head of household's impatient scowl.

"I want a job." She forced herself to say loud enough to be heard over the bustle of dinner prep. "Give me something to do, anything. You must need help."

Mrs. Sinh scoffed and tried to move away. "Madam Ilaria would not be happy with me putting her guests to work."

Rose followed behind her, refusing to be ignored. "I'm not a guest, Mrs. Sinh." Rose insisted miserably, thrusting the underside of her arm in front of the woman's face so that the tattooed numbers and letters stood out starkly against the pale skin of her wrist. Mrs. Sinh glanced at it and then back at Rose, eyes slightly more softened. "And I'm tired of pretending I'm anything but bought, it's exhausting and unfair. If _he_ has to be a slave, then I'm a slave."

Mrs. Sinh shook her head with a sigh. "Well, I can't say I understand it, but I guess it beat sitting around and watching the boy get killed." She didn't say it cruelly, and obviously didn't mean it to be so, but the words still felt like a rock had been thrown at Rose's chest. "Come on."

Rose followed behind the woman, dodging the other cooks and assistants. Mrs. Sinh pointed towards a small empty table in the corner of the kitchen, a giant crate of something and a smaller silver bowl on its surface. "Sit there and shuck through these _hauvskillpuds._ Make sure the entire shell is removed, but save the ones that come off intact."

"Yes, ma'am." Rose nodded. She sat down carefully on the low three-legged stool next to the table and took up a shucking knife, glad to finally have something to do even if it was laboring in the kitchens. The _hauvskillpud_ looked like tiny, bipedal turtles. Rose placed the edge of the knife between the greyish meat and the shell and yanked with all her might, ignoring the Chef's glare from across the stove.

* * *

The Doctor had his eyes closed, awake but resting, enjoying the gentle sound of raindrops hitting water and stone. It was the most relaxed he had been throughout the whole Trial, and even though he knew he shouldn't be, the Doctor simply couldn't help himself. With his body hydrated and his stomach full of fish – raw, fleshy, and oily as it was – and the gentle lullaby of nature around him, it was easy to let the pull of fatigue guide his eyes shut.

The taste of camosphere in the air was much stronger than usual, metallic and foreign. He didn't know if it was because of the water outside or the fact that they only had four competitors to focus on, but the cameras seemed to be more attune than ever, filming everything they were doing. The Doctor almost ( _almost_ ) felt sorry for the viewers. The show must be so boring right now. Nothing much was happening at the moment. They ate, they drank, they rested. The Doctor had actually expected worse coming into the Trial, more production interaction at least, giving them more obstacles then just frozen water and homicidal competitors. Not that he was complaining, of course.

They had found a small alcove not far downstream from where they began with enough of a cover to protect them marginally from the rain. It was shallow and rocky, just deep enough to fit the two of them if they curled up tightly, but it would do. The Doctor was sure they had time to rest for a while and wait out the storm. He knew they were close, perhaps only a day away, and the rain would have obscured their scent from Seven and Eight. Of course, that also meant _their_ scent was hidden from the Doctor and Six, but they would just have to hope their head start and cover was good enough to last them a little while longer.

Every now and then the question of sleep poked at the Doctor once more, and each time he reluctantly brushed it off. He had no real reason to do so – Six was still awake next to him, lazily cleaning her paws and picking fish scales from her teeth. Part of him wondered if Six was thinking along the same lines as he was. That sooner or later something would have to be done about the other competitor. But no, no, that couldn't be right. Only the Doctor was selfish like that. Six had _fed_ him. If she wanted to kill him it could so easily be done. She was born with perfect weapons whereas the Doctor was more or less harmless. If she wanted him dead, he already would be.

No, Six was an ally.

Yet still he turned sleep down.

The Doctor could hear the Sinjuray breathing next to him and tried to find comfort in the steady rhythm. The gentle pitter-patters of rain falling on rock increased and blurred together into a single rush of sound getting stronger and stronger. Or rather – the Doctor frowned and listened harder – it was coming…closer? Yes, the rushing appeared to be coming from a distance, rapidly coming closer.

But the rain. Opening his eyes, the Doctor watched as water splattered against the stones outside in the same tempo as before, soft and soothing. The rain wasn't getting heavier, as the sound suggested. Something else was happening.

Something else was coming.

Pushing himself to his hands and knees, the Doctor crawled to the entrance of the alcove and looked upstream. Six harrumphed curiously and shifted so she could watch him. Everything seemed fine…except the birds had stopped chirping. That could be from the change in weather. Or it could be from something else. The water looked fine, if a little shallow and muddy from the rain runoff. But that wasn't right, it should be shallow if it was raining.

The Doctor crawled the rest of the way out, wincing on instinct when a drop of rain hit him on the cheek as he stood. He could practically feel the ground trembling, or were those his erratic hearts beating their anxiety? No, his hearts were battle-steady. The ground was shaking. The water was receding. Something was rushing, roaring towards them.

His vision tunneled at the sight. There, upstream, far up the sloped canyon but coming at them _too quickly_ was a giant, towering wave of brown water.

" _Ҫɑrjɑnow_ …Six! Get up!" The Doctor cursed colorfully in low Gallifreyan. The cat rumbled unhappily and the Doctor thrust his hand into the alcove as if to pull her out without taking his eyes off the wave. He barely felt the sting of her claws raking down his arm or heard her hiss of panicked surprise. All he saw was the tidal wave rushing towards them, closer and closer

"Ow! Get up! It's a flash flood!" A flash flood channeled straight at them by the valley walls, growing and roaring in anger the more ground it covered. Already, waves were lapping at the crests of the hills on either side. A single, desolate tree along the top of one hill stood no chance against the rage. It bent and snapped under the water's touch like a toothpick and vanished beneath the churning mud. The Doctor did not want to be that tree.

The loud _crack_ of splintering wood and the rushing tide got Six to her feet. She launched herself out of the alcove after the Doctor, who had already started running down the bank. He pumped his arms desperately, willing his legs to move faster, to not trip or slip over the mossy rocks beneath his feet. It would be impossible to outrun the wave, but the walls on either side of the alcove were too steep to climb, trapping them down in the riverbed. They had to get to higher ground.

Six streaked past the Doctor, covering three of the Doctors strides in one single bound. The canyon wall began to angle out but it was still terribly steep. Some rocks and a few unearthed roots could make for handholds. For Six that was no problem. She leapt up the bank, propelling from one boulder to the next with her powerful legs. The Doctor wouldn't be able to make it.

But he had to. He could feel wetness licking at his heels. The roaring of the water was so loud in his ears it had to be right behind him, breathing down his back. Water rushed over his ankles and he tripped at the sudden change in traction. Stumbling, the Doctor blindly shot his hand out, reaching for one of the roots he knew might be sticking out. By some miracle he managed to grab something and hoisted himself up.

Loose water frothed beneath his feet as the wave barreled towards him. He wouldn't be clear of it. He needed to get higher. Straining his arms, the Doctor pulled himself up as high as he could, feet flailing and kicking out in a desperate search for a foothold on the wall. His shoes slipped too easily off the rain-slicked stones until finally he caught something semi-stable. Pushing with all his might, exhausted as he was, the Doctor flung himself forward, aiming for another outstanding rock.

His fingers curled around the smooth, cold stone just as the wave _slammed_ into his legs. The force was tremendous. His feet were swept out from under him, smashed carelessly into canyon wall, and then dragged determinedly downstream. It was all the Doctor could do to hold on, knuckles white around the single stone. His other hand lashed out at a thick nearby vine and grabbed hold of it just as another wave pounded into his side. It was like being kicked by a Judoon – swift and merciless. All the air was knocked from his lungs, but he was _so close._ He pulled on the vine, trying to drag his sodden, battered body up and out of the water when –

_SNAP!_

The vine split apart and the Doctor was given one terrifying moment of clarity, as if the universe had slowed down to focus on this one moment of a Time Lord suspended in midair, hands grappling frantically for support that wasn't there.

Then he was falling. His back struck the water with the force of a cannonball and the Doctor cried out in pain. Horrid, murky water slipped into his mouth and rushed down his throat. The Doctor tried to cough and gasp for air, but a vortex below grabbed his arm and yanked him beneath the surface. Panic flared in his chest. Something impossibly heavy struck him on his hip. His mouth flew open in a silent scream just as his mind shouted _DON'T BREATHE IN DON'TBREATHEIN!_ Too late, the acrid water plunged into his lungs as he was pulled deeper beneath the flood, churning, spinning, slamming into what could have been the riverbed floor and what could have been the canyon walls and what could have been the ceiling of the universe for all the Doctor knew. His eyes were wide with terror but there was nothing to see but brown moiling fluid pushing and pulling and drowning him. His lungs _screamed_ against the liquid intruder, burning in agony. His respiratory bypass loyally tried to switch on but water rushed in too fast, making it impossible to seal his lungs off. The brown around him became darker and darker, spots of black flashing before him. He lashed out, flailing is arms and legs, trying desperately to remember how to swim, but the vortex kept wrenching him back. He screamed in frustration, in anger, in fear and water greeted his lungs once more. His limbs were too weak, too heavy. Everything was like lead and he couldn't move, couldn't think, _couldn't breathe must breathe havetobreathebreathebreath_

The Doctor gasped hopelessly, desperate for air, but there was nothing there by water and darkness.


	53. Chapter 53

The _hauvskillpud_ proved to be a worthy distraction. They were stubborn little bastards, determined to stay in their shells even after death. Rose's fingers now sported several shallow nicks and cuts from where the shucking knife slipped against their hard, slimy shelters. Her hands were covered in the goo and she couldn't quite figure out how to get it all off without spreading it everywhere so she stopped trying. The slime made the task of opening the pods that much harder, but Rose relished in the extra work.

She was about halfway through the case of _hauvskillpud_ and no one had bothered her yet. Chef occasionally sent a piercing glare in her direction, but other than that it could have been as if she wasn't even there. And that was completely okay with the human as well. Attention had never done her or the Doctor any good at this estate.

Unfortunately, the peace didn't last much longer. One of the assistants Rose recognized from Jancon's personal supply stock was weaving his way towards her isolated corner, a frenzied look upon his dark green face. For a moment Rose was able to convince herself that he was searching for someone else and tried to return, apprehensively, to her work.

When his shadow fell over her work station, Rose knew she could no longer ignore him. A ball of lead formed in her stomach, growing hotter with each escalating breath.

"The master wishes to speak with you, Miss Rose." The alien said formally. Far too formally, as if trying to cover up the frantic tone that latched onto the edge of each word.

"Right – right now?" Rose asked. Maybe it could wait. Maybe it wasn't important. She gestured towards the case of _hauvskillpud._ "I'm almost done here." She lied. But in truth, she didn't want to hear what Jancon or his emerald assistant wanted to say at all, ever, no thanks. Nothing good ever came out of a summons from the Prebassador. An image of the Doctor curled up on his knees at Jancon's feet refused to budge out of her mind. Another vision of the Doctor, with glassy eyes and slouched shoulders, drifted into play alongside the first. And between them, as if held aloft by the others, stood a figure of the Doctor, strung up between two poles, bare-chested and dripping blood from the lashes on his back. No, summons from the Prebassador were _never_ good. And there was only one thing she could imagine Jancon summoning her for now.

In response, the assistant merely stepped back and gestured earnestly, stiffly, towards the corridor outside the kitchen. "Lord Jancon awaits," was all he said.

The ball of lead burned sharply against Rose's insides at his ambiguous answer, but there was no arguing. Standing slowly, certain the flaming ball would sear through her at any moment – for surely that was the cause of her nausea and the reason her legs felt like jelly weighed down by bowling balls – Rose followed the assistant through the kitchen. There was a ringing Rose hadn't noticed before growing louder with each step. She could now see Jancon standing in the hallway waiting for her, hands clasped behind his back and eyes refusing, even from a distance, to meet her own.

_No._

"Thank you, Nabercet. That will be all." Jancon dismissed the assistant, who scurried away with a datapad in hand, quite clearly desperate to put some space between the master and himself. The Prebassador looked down and guided Rose further from the kitchen with a soft hand resting gentlemanly between her shoulder blades. He stopped her as they came around the bend of the corridor. Jancon took a hesitant breath. "Rose, I –"

But Rose was already shaking her head. She didn't want to hear it. She didn't want to be there. She wanted to go back to the kitchen. She wanted to finish the _hauvskillpud_. She didn't want to hear what he was saying, but her heart was thudding too loudly in her throat for her to form the words to beg him not to.

"I wanted to be the one to tell you. There's been an,"

"No. No, please don't."

"Incident." He paused as Rose shook her head more insistently, slimy hands covering to her mouth as if guarding her soul from what it was about to hear. "I believe he called it a 'flash-flood', and,"

"No, no, no." The word tumbled out like part of the air moving too quickly through her lungs. She couldn't breathe.

"I'm…I'm so sorry, but John wasn't fast enough."

And Jancon looked genuinely sorry. He glanced down at Rose, who refused to meet his eye, arm jerking as if he were about to reach for the human and just barely stopped himself. Rose pressed herself against the wall behind her. The room had suddenly tipped on its side. She felt her knees buckle as gravity shifted, leaving her barely hanging onto the one scrap of reality pushing against her back.

"No, no, he can't – He didn't. He'll regenerate."

"I'm so sorry." The usually polished voice sounded strained, broken. "I waited. I watched for ten minutes. There was no sign of him, or anyone that could have taken John's place. It happened too quickly."

"Then _wait longer!"_ Rose hissed. "He can't have – He doesn't need to – _THIS IS YOUR FAULT!_ " Rose launched herself at the Prebassador, slamming into his slim frame. " _YOU DID THIS TO HIM!"_ She struck him in the chest with a closed fist. " _YOU SENT HIM THERE."_ She hit him again, grabbing giant fistfuls of his shirt and yanking as if she could pull back the very fabric of Time. The penalty of striking a master flitted briefly through her head, but she welcomed it. Pain. Suffering. Agony. What was it? What was it compared to the lies spewing from Jancon's mouth. The Doctor couldn't be…he wasn't…

Arms wrapped around her in the mockery of a hug and panic flared through her. She was caged. Trapped. Held against this killer! She shoved back against him. "Let me go! Get off me!"

"Shhh, Rose, my little Thorn,"

" _Let go of me!"_

The arms released her too suddenly and she fell backwards, shoulders hitting the wall. She slid down it, legs no longer able to hold her up as the universe turned on her and dragged her heart down through her stomach to the tips of her toes and into the ground, pinning her to the spot as it leached everything from her body until she felt limp and hollow and _wrong._ Jancon knelt before her, saying something, eyes uncharacteristically large and wet. Rose couldn't hear him through the rushing in her ears and the pounding in her head. She didn't have a heart anymore, it had vanished through the floorboards – so what was making that sound? What could possibly still be beating in a fragile, empty shell.

"- but John was a pleasure and a privileged to have known. I will miss him dearly."

Somehow, those words made it through her shell and ripped Rose open, like her knife through a _hauvskillpud_.

"That was the most selfish thing you've ever said, and you've said a lot of selfish things." Rose hissed at her knees before glaring up at Jancon, gold flames practically dancing in her eyes. "He isn't yours to miss."

Jancon frowned understandingly. "Of course, you are right. He was yours and only yours, I just -"

"No!" Rose snapped. "He isn't mine! He isn't anybody's! He doesn't _belong_ to anyone! Why can't you get that through your thick, stupidly grey head? No one can claim him, and look what happens when you try, you disgusting, gutless –"

"My Lord!"

"Not now, Nabercet." Jancon held up a hand as if directing traffic. The assistant had come barreling back around the corner looking, impossibly, even more frenzied then before.

"No, but, my lord – "

"I am currently being justly shouted at by a very wronged woman, are you quite certain you would like to get involved in the middle of this?" Jancon asked almost calmly.

"Of course not, Lord Jancon." And he sounded _very_ honest about that. "But you will want to see this. It's the slave."

* * *

The flash flood had lived up to its name, striking hard one moment and all but vanishing the next like a burst of lightening. The storm had more or less cried itself to sleep as well. Drizzle floated down from the slowly brightening clouds and speckled the now smooth surface of the murky river with gentle, apologetic kisses. Even the birds had resumed their soft trilling and flitted around the bankside looking for flood spoils.

Everything seemed so calm in the aftermath of the destruction, as if nature itself was trying to will the memory of its tantrum away from all those who had witnessed it and survived.

The calm was ruined, however, when the smooth, almost wood-like surface of the river was splintered by a hand. The hand thrashed and grasped for the water as if hoping it would turn solid at its touch. The water only churned in response, sending rippling waves crashing into the stones on the bank nearby. As if able to sense the ripples, the hand, now joined by its counterpart, turned and thrashed its way towards the shore. Finally, the surface broke a third time and a head emerged, mouth gasping desperately like an air-caught fish. The half drowned creature nearly bobbed beneath the surface again had it not been for its still thrashing hands and now arms, the frantic movements keeping it afloat and shifting towards the shore. Belatedly, the creature's dark, panicked eyes finally caught sight of the land and, with a cough and gurgle for desperate breath, it lounged towards salvation.

As it nears the shore, the creature remembered. He's the Doctor. He was drowning. He couldn't breathe. He was in pain. He was fighting. He was scared.

It all came crashing down on him like the waves trying to pull him back into the river, but he clung to the thoughts, the memories. He's the Doctor, he _can't_ let himself drown, he _can_ breathe now, he can't be scared, he needs to keep fighting.

The pain, however, is something else. His lungs were burning like hot coals, his head throbbing along with his weak double heart beats. _Oh good, lefty started back up again,_ some voice tried to say jovially in the back of his frenzied mind. It felt like there was an immovable metal band wrapped around his ribs, caging them painfully, and his right hip roared in agony every time it moved or swayed in the water. But he had to keep swimming.

The river had finally become shallow enough for his hands to clasp at the solid stone bedding instead of water. Slowly, agonizingly, the Doctor pulled himself up the gentle incline onto dry land.

Without the weightlessness that came with being in water, the torture of his dislocated hip flared with a vengeance, and it was all the Doctor could do not to scream. He doubted he had enough air in his lungs to get the job done anyway. His respiratory system was still reeling from the incomplete bypass attempt and water continued to siphon through his lung walls and choke the Doctor every few seconds. He coughed the water up, panting desperately through the trickle of liquid and drool dripping from his lips. He didn't care enough or have the energy to wipe it away.

Despite the screaming protests of his leg, the Doctor forced himself to crawl further up the bank. His three working limbs trembled from the exertion, but it had to be done. He needed to relocate his hip. The agony was intense, far worse than any torture he had experienced at the hands of Jancon, Eyal, and the outpost all put together. But without his leg he was useless; he couldn't finish the trial, couldn't move to find shelter or food, and couldn't protect himself from the remaining competitors.

He shivered at the idea of having to set the joint by himself, without aid or anesthesia. This sort of thing should never be attempted without someone's help, but there was no one to help him now. Six had run off – _hopefully_ , the Doctor amended, praying she hadn't been caught in the flood as well – and Seven and Eight would be _far_ too thrilled to find their prey vulnerable and suffering to offer him any sort of assistance.

No, he would have to do this alone.

Squinting through the water dripping into his eyes from his limp hair, the Doctor found a cluster of boulders not far up the bank. That would have to do. Still not daring to try to stand, the Time Lord continued to pull himself up the rocky shore, reminded humorlessly of that one scene at the end of Star Wars Episode III. Rose had had to close her eyes and look away as Anakin dragged his ruined, mutilated body away from the lava river. What was she thinking now? Was she even watching? The Doctor hoped not. She didn't need to see this.

Tears had sprung unwillingly to his eyes, welling up and obscuring his vision. From the way his femur felt like it was grinding against the bones of his pelvis and the way his right foot angled in, the Doctor guessed it was dislocated posteriorly. At least that was an easier fix than anteriorly and the leg didn't seem to be broken or fractured anywhere else. Little silver linings.

The Doctor crawled his way up to the first boulder, which was low enough for him to sit on like a chair, and began to hoist himself up with a stick he had found along his way. It was slow, painful work, putting most of his body weight on the stick as the Doctor's useless leg refused to help, only whining about the pain, but finally he made it. Now for the hard part.

He allowed himself a moment of rest, a reward of sorts for making it this far. But it wasn't much of a rest. By sitting down, he had forced his hip to rotate, causing the ball of his femur to rub even more against the harsher angle of his pelvis. The torment was intense. Realizing the pain was only getting worse the longer he put it off, the Doctor decided it was now or never.

Using his trembling arms, the Doctor shifted himself around until the edge of the boulder lifted and pressed against the right side of his hip. Tears flowed freely now as the Doctor fought a sob. He had to keep going. It was only going to get worse before it could get better. The Doctor carefully laced the stick under his right knee and moved it up until it rested three quarters of the way up his thigh. Gripping either side of the stick, the Doctor took three quick, shallow breaths, and _yanked._

Pain like nothing he'd experienced before split through him. His vision whited out, a piercing scream echoing from somewhere nearby. His nerves felt like they were being ground through a mill, but he yanked again, jerking to the right to set the femur in place. There was a loud, sickening _pop_ as the joint fell back into the socket and red light flared behind his closed eyes.

By the time he was able to open them again, he found himself on the ground, panting and whimpering wretchedly. A moment later he was vomiting onto the rocks, his meager meal of raw fish returning with a vengeance. His body shook with lingering pain, his whole leg pulsing miserably, but it was more manageable now. He didn't bother moving as he took stock at last of all his other injuries: a concussion for sure, two broken ribs, a sprained wrist, horribly water-damaged lungs that still felt far too weak and wet, and a multitude of cuts and gashes. The stones beneath him were smeared with orange-red blood.

All in all, he was a complete and total mess. Knowing his leg wouldn't be able to hold weight for a few more hours at least, there was only one thing the Doctor could think of to do. The cluster of boulders created a sort of stone-like nest between them, and while it wasn't the most prime piece of real estate, the Doctor forced himself to crawl back into the center of the mass, curled into a ball against the harsh, unyielding ground, and fell into the heaviest healing coma he'd had to endure in a long, long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Komments and Cudos Accepted! :)


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